


Different but the Same

by PennySerenade



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Awkward Daryl, Beth Greene Sings, Beth Lives, Daryl Dixon & Beth Greene Friendship, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Beth Greene, POV Daryl Dixon, POV Third Person, Past Abuse, Post-Episode AU: s04e13 Alone, Pre-Relationship, Protective Daryl Dixon, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Survival, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 00:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5985867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennySerenade/pseuds/PennySerenade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beth isn't kidnapped at the funeral home.</p><p>Now the last two survivors, Daryl witnesses the human moments that Beth goes through. And the process of their relationship as both discover the roles they play in one another's lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love thinking about what happens on the Walking Dead that is never shown - the little day to day things. I decided to put that in between the dynamic of Daryl and Beth.

The ache in their legs burned as they finally came to a stop - deep in the brush of the forest. Dawn was just rising with foggy air thick around their bodies. Sweat budded on Beth’s brow as she anxiously craned her head to search for a signal from Daryl.

But he was still panting, leaning against a tree for support. Giving himself a moment after the long and hard run that just saved them from danger – again. 

Daryl can feel that familiar momentum building after seeing the frightened look on Beth’s face. It shouldn’t be _this_ quick; that feeling rising inside of him when he knows she’s looking for something. Was it reassurance? A game plan? Sometimes Daryl feels like she’s a small bird in his hand, precious, but could fly away at any moment.

Her own words rang aloud in his head.

_**Y _ou_ look at me and see another dead girl. ** _

He wouldn’t let that happen. He wouldn't let _her_ let that happen. Because what good would it be to be the last man standing if he didn’t have anything to stand for? Glancing briefly at her, watching those wide eyes, Daryl hopes that soon it would be Beth telling them which way to go. She had it in her. Somewhere, deep inside, she had changed from an anxious girl on the outskirts to a person ready for new missions - regardless if it was boozing or burning down cabins. 

He wonders if she sees that visible change within herself. Guess the group wasn’t too good at building confidence in her. _Too young, too good,_ they had thought. Now alone, just the two of them breathing hard into the quietness of the woods, couldn’t she see that she was alive - she was half of something and he the other?

 _Fuck,_ Daryl immediately chastises himself; knowing he shouldn’t think that far into this. He’s just an old redneck, what would he know about this deep shit anyway? 

“A’right let’s find us a new camp." He points the crossbow in a new direction. "Herd was movin’ west so we’ll keep goin’ east.” 

“Ain’t we going back for our stuff?” Beth immediately questioned.

When they were awoken by a stampede of walkers, suddenly heavy on the ground with loud moans in the forest, they ran before they could pack up most of their belongings. It was too dark, before daybreak, and too close to risk. Daryl was on watch - almost choked on his cigarette and practically ripped her shoulder off as he dragged Beth onto her feet. The dead's fingers closely clawing behind them as they sprinted away. 

Now Beth didn’t have her precious pack and she knew it would be gravely needed.

“C’mon, too dangerous," he responds, trying to give what an apologetic face might look like.

“But we need those supplies,” she challenged. Her eyebrows furrowed. 

 _Good_ , he thinks as she initiated leadership. But unfortunately this time it wouldn't work out - it was too dangerous. And he was intent on having them both being the last one standing.

“Nah got the food, we can spare the rest, " he concluded. "We'll loot a cabin soon or some houses, once we cross these woods. Maybe tomorrow." 

Daryl casts a grimace in the direction they just came from. “But ain’t goin' back in that direction.”

Too much terribleness had been in that direction. The governor at their prison gates. Houses with pigs’ feet and jelly that were a lie. Cars with crosses. Men that had to be killed. Too many herds. Too much.

They begin trudging along, but Beth noticeably balked a few feet back from him. Her thoughts going a mile a minute, _What am I gonna do, what am I gonna do?_

All of it gone.

She had spent days gathering those supplies, since she knew her period was coming any day now. Having mostly remained deep in the woods after they were attacked by those police men at the funeral home, Beth had pooled together all that she could. A few loose tampons, cut up rags from discarded sweaters, and makeshift underwear. Now? Nothing.

 _I’m going to bleed all over everything, leave a scent, a trail for something to follow,_ her inner critic voiced. 

She remembered the stories of how Glenn and Rick escaped Atlanta by disguising themselves with rancid walker guts. If these creatures were so in tune with these scents, would they smell her out? Wide open and bare? Beth pictures the night they spent locked in the trunk of a car, while walkers climbed over the vehicle like wild animals moving their flock. What if one had noticed her blood.. 

 _Shut up, impossible, that's not how it works,_ she tells herself.

But the fear lingered, whispering in her ear. 

It'll be her first period since the prison fell. She's been missing it on account of all the tired running, dodging, and scavenging scarce meals here and there. But this week she felt the tell tale signs and knew it would be arriving any day.

Now she was alone deep in the forest with nothing. Nothing but _Daryl_. Last time they were stranded as wanderers on the road she had Maggie and Carol and Lori for support. They lived in abandoned places when possible. She had her fellow women to help pool supplies together. 

Now? 

She watches Daryl's solitary figure in front of her, and mourns that the fact that the forest floor will be their continued resting spot. Bleeding back into the earth. 

Beth knew that she wasn’t as physically strong as her companion. Remembered the rueful smile Daryl gave her when she handed back the cross bow after it became too heavy to carry. Or when he would reach up and climb the taller trees, lifting himself all the way up while stretching one hand down to help her up. Did he enjoy this masculine advantage? Would that even matter now, when she soon would be required to tell him what's about to happen to her? Or happen to _them,_ because if something happens to one of them, they both have to go through it. 

**_I never relied on anyone's protection before!_**

The foolish 'Never have I ever' seemed to mostly apply to her. 

She hates this. It’s not like she could ditch the unsolicited male company as she would before the world ended. Beth feels shame coursing through her. Not only was she not strong enough to always keep up in the same way, now her body would keep them lingering back even more.

She feels the old guilt for him getting stuck with her. 

**_I wish I could just change._ **

Beth looks down at her feet in regret - feeling as though she never would fully change.

* * *

After walking what seemed like miles, they reached a small clearing that also had an adequate coverage of brush and trees. Beth, already enduring pangs of cramping and soreness, quickly plants herself down across from him and tightly holds her knees.

Daryl raises an eyebrow to her curled up posture. But she's busy taking out the beef jerky from their one remaining pack, which was luckily latched to Daryl in their great escape. 

“So," she asks, attempting to clear her mind, at least for a moment. "If you could eat anythin' right now, what'd it be?”

Daryl was beyond getting used to these games of hers, instead he actually looked forward to them. Not that he’ll tell her that, because she’ll get that _‘told you so’_ look on her face.

“Besides squirrel,” she cheekily adds.

“Hm.. I dunno,” he says, knowing it will get a reaction from her.

“Daryl c’mon." She bumps his foot with hers.

He rarely missed things the way the rest of the group seemed to. It's not like _he_  wasn't eating squirrel before the world ended. 

“A’right,” he says, giving in, and thinking it will perk her up. “How bout’ that dinner y'all made for Carl's birthday?” 

It was a distant memor. One at the prison when they flourished with plentiful vegetables and stocks of food. 

“Maggie and I ate a bunch before we sat down,” Beth laughed.

She can see her sister popping a spoon of mashed potatoes into her mouth. Her green eyes mischievous, like always. Or once upon a time that is. 

“Greenes." He shakes his head.

Remembering the group usually made them quiet afterwards. Beth hardly brought them up anymore. No more, _I wonder how many words Judy says now_  or _I wonder if Carl is with Rick?_ Meanwhile, Maggie was tucked away in her heart and mind; she didn’t have to talk about her constantly. But this time the memory stuck and clung to her thoughts. She could feel it filling her head, heavy with emotion. It stung at her nose and eyes. 

And then Beth is forced herself to acknowledged why she was feeling emotional. It's regrettably unavoidable. She can't ignore this issue anymore, as it creeps up from behind like a monstrous walker. The pain below growing stronger and obviously on its way any minute. If not already.

“Any more signs of a cabin?” she cautiously asks.

“Nah just that ol’ campfire pit while back," he responds. "If we keep goin’ might find ourselves somethin', but we best stick to the woods for now." 

 _Ugh no_ , she panics. 

Bucking up the courage to tell him they needed to find shelter for at least a night, so she can remedy herself. Beth started neutrally as could, “Hey, uh maybe we should settle down for a bit. We could use the breather and all.”

Daryl looks up and examines her posture again, curled up as if in pain. Despite their break the sweat hadn’t yet left her face. Was she all right?

“Got a better reason than that?” he knowingly asked. 

"Well we've been roughin' it awhile now, four walls wouldn't be so bad for a night.." 

"Hm." He shrugs indifferently. 

 _Spit it out,_ Beth tells herself.  _Be an adult._

"Also.." she cringes.

But figures that it'll soon become obvious anyway, with her unfortunately light jeans and complete lack of supplies. So she might as well get it over with. Why lie at this point? 

"I’m, uh about to get my period."

Glancing up at his still form, Beth hurries to finish, "Like today. And it's just.. well we don’t have any more supplies, nothin' to rip up or anythin'. It's just a mess.. So, I dunno, should we go somewhere?” Her words came out hastily, her embarrassment obvious. Looking at him like he's the holy grail of answers to tricky problems.

But Daryl pauses. Momentarily at a loss for what their next step should be.

He feels his face reddening - even though he knew it was nothing to be embarrassed about. Hadn’t he and Glenn grabbed feminine products on all those runs, because they were on the list and he knew somebody was going to need them. It was just part of life. Anyway it was good, it meant your body was healthy enough to function. He should have expected this, stranded by themselves, one of them being a woman.

But now with this one girl. Her one need. And again, like a bird in his hand, he didn’t know how to take care of this for her. The silence ran on a little too long.

“Can try lookin’ for that cabin? We can go now,” he awkwardly suggests. It's the only safe option at the moment. 

He hopes there's one not too far off, but it's hard to tell at this point. He only planned on spending the night in the woods, as they usually did. 

Coincidentally enough, Beth could feel the bleeding had come while sitting down. Or had it been there? She couldn’t tell from these dirty pants and the sweat drenched on her legs. Wishing she could change into something else, but Beth knew she would just have to bleed through these jeans for the time being.

 _It’s not fair_ , she thinks as she sees him stand up.

She feels like a relic from the old world. Everything changes but her. Not her body tied to whatever female based thing this was, trying to give live even when all else was dying. 

“Yeah, we can go,” she softly says.

They head into the denser forest.

Daryl only knows what’s in front of him, not having been well acquainted with this particular forest. His eagle eyes search the ground for anything pointing them in the right direction. However, they keep the pace slower than before.

He can’t help but glance sideways at her.

She's pretty quiet. Although they were both solitary people, together he soon realized that they often couldn’t shut up once they got going. It was mostly her fault. He never heard someone ask so many questions as Beth did. Honestly, that’s how he’d always remember her. One after the other. About stuff that no one really ever cared to know. A lot of,  _why’s that?_  or _when did ya learn this?_

With a downcast face and arms tightly wound against her lower stomach, she seemed sad. Daryl didn’t know what to do - she had been the one tearing down walls in their partnership. As steady as a hammer and nail, she worked hard to make them where they are now.

He shifted his eyes back to the trails and searched for his only way to help.

* * *

Hours stretched into the late afternoon. 

Daryl knew the cabin wasn’t a hundred percent guarantee. They were deep in the wilderness. If they went at least a couple miles more they would reach the outskirts of this Georgia forest.

He vaguely knew of the town that lay on the other side. It was small and might have some supplies leftover. But at what cost? Wasn’t it safer to stay where the land protected them; away from the roads and cars that tried to snatch people away.

Casting his gaze over at Beth once more, she looked ready to drop down and sleep about a full 24 hours. They needed to find a place for the night. 

As they stopped at a creek to take water to later boil in their canteen, Daryl decided that they’d follow the stream instead. Might lead them to a place they could borrow. Lodgings were often near a source of water.

When Beth straightened up after washing her face, he could see the blood that had stained in-between her legs. It seemed like a lot, but it wasn't like he was exactly an expert on the subject. Subtly glancing at the rock, that she had been sitting on, there's a residue of red left on it. There has to be somewhere, soon, that has supplies for her to use so she won't leave marks. It's unsafe to leave a trail.

Daryl almost tells her be careful about where she sits or brushes up against. But then he stops himself; not knowing how to begin that conversation. It would just end up embarrassing the both of them anyway.

Meanwhile, Beth felt anything but okay. She's nauseous from lack of water and food. Sticky with blood and sweat. Muscles sore in her lower abdomen, knotting together with painful cramps.

And embarrassment. 

Beth knew she must be a sight to see. Just casually bleeding in front of Daryl. What a mess. 

She tried to play it cool when her gut-wrenching cramps arrived, acting like nothing was wrong. Like she could handle it. But eventually, hours in, she was hunched over like a walker dragging its feet. She wonders what Daryl thinks of her. If he thinks she's weak or maybe a burden.

At one point earlier, Beth broke her resolve and asked for a break, "Could we just please.." and then she crouched down to the ground and held her abdomen like sharp knives were stabbing her. Daryl staring at her like she's an exhibit in a museum. 

She looked up to gauge his reaction, but couldn't tell what his facial expression was. For a second, she thought he might have looked a little sympathetic. Or worried. But sometimes it's hard to tell with him. Maybe he's just irritated for slowing their pace. But it's not like she has long to examine him examining her. Once meeting her eyes, Daryl tightened his mouth and looked away. Circled around her and scoped out the area. 

Giving her the space you would to someone puking their guts out. Great. 

 _What if I'm not able to run fast enough if we need to?_  Beth thought with a sense of doom. She could get Daryl hurt because he wouldn’t leave her behind. All because of her fucking period. It was almost comical.

In the old world, she'd actually worry about eventually being an adult with her seemingly more-monstrous-than-average period. She wouldn't be able to easily call in from work like she did for high school, when she felt too sick to go. What would her prehistoric 15-year-old-self think about calling in sick from the apocalypse? You can't. It didn't stop when you were in pain. It was blood on top of blood. 

Now as they trudged along she continued to hold her lower stomach; the pain surreal. And the cabin seemed like a dim hope in the dark. 

Suddenly, Beth stopped in her tracks. For a second, she thought she might actually throw up, but forces her body to abort it's distress call. She didn't want to lose the only food in her stomach. 

“Doin' a’right?” Daryl anxiously took a step towards her, after catching her hazy eyes as they lost focus; blinking hard.

He didn't trust that look. It made his own stomach dip in a worried manner that he was still getting used to - not yet accustomed to the sole responsibility of watching after one other person. It wasn't like Merle ever accepted any help - as if he knew how to help him anyway. 

But Beth stares at him with wet eyes. He didn't look irritated at her now. He looked genuinely worried; concern plain on his face. 

And then she can't help but wonder when was the last time her dad or sister asked if she was alright, _"You alright Bethy?"_ Before their sanctuary ended and she was left bare without them. And yet.. even after everything that's happened she wasn't stranded by her lonely self. 

She was adrift at sea with Daryl. And he was increasingly becoming a whole stranded island at her side - an entire world really. But she didn't have time to think about it right now; all the feelings she knew that were stuffed somewhere down her throat. About him. 

His small question was all it took to break her. Because, no, she was not alright. Everything was painful, right down to deep inside of her. Except it seems Daryl doesn't even care that they were holding back because of her. That they were in more danger and technically it was her fault. At least that's what Beth felt like. At the end of it all, he showed that he cared in his awkward watchful way - if she was “a’right.” After all everyone and everything she's lost, Beth still has someone who cares about her well-being. She wasn't alone.

Beth hides her face as wetness further invades her eyes. Harshly wipes the back of her hand across her cheek. Daryl blinks, surprised, and stands there stunned into an awkward silence. Scratching his neck, he waited for her to get her breath back. _Shit_ , he hadn’t expected that at all.

“I’m sorry,” she groggily says, through muffled tears.

She's sure that if he wasn’t already fed up with this feminine bullshit then he probably is now.

“Hey,” he responds, a little louder than he meant to. 

He knows she feels like shit and is scared because of it. It's the worst feeling. 

“There ain’t nothin’ you coulda done 'bout this,” he says, waving his hand in her direction in a more dramatic manner than intended.

She probably expects him to tell her quit the tears, to keep moving. Maybe he should. If it had been the beginning of their journey, before they had burned that cabin down, he would have. But Beth just looks miserably up at him. Honestly, he has no idea what to say. Or what to do. He never really did. 

So he just hesitantly inches forward. And she takes the bait. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Daryl’s eyes scan the trees around them, looking for something that isn’t there. He feels her relax in his arms and can’t help but also feel his heart pound hard as her softness yields into his rigid body. Hadn’t she hugged him when he needed it, admittedly or not? He clumsily pats her back, not knowing if that's what actually comforts someone. Daryl wishes he knew how to give more. How to be more.

Yet, it seems to be enough. Beth's breathing slows and she pulls back. Although her eyes are still swimming with tears, her mouth stretches into small smile. Distracted by all that pink on her face – pink eyes, pink cheeks, pink lips – Daryl stands staring down like a fool as she leans away.

“Sorry, I just _really_ feel like crap. Dunno where that came from."

Even though she knows perfectly well where that came from; it came from him. And also her emotionally-hijacked body.

**_I don't cry anymore Daryl._ **

"So much for not cryin' anymore," she awkwardly huffs.

Invoking the memory of Zach's death. When she thought she had no tears left to shed. But then the prison crashed and burned, and now Beth didn't know how the hell she'll ever act, especially when it concerns _Daryl_. 

“S'fine,” he drawls, and backs up a few feet. 

And he realizes that he actually means that. He doesn't know much about what she's going through right now, but it seems like a real bummer. He doesn't blame her for reacting to bodily pain, even if he can't empathize with her, Daryl still understood what pain is. It was always fresh in his mind. 

“But we needa’ keep movin, find a place 'fore dark.”

They hike along. Trekking downhill as the creek takes them to a clearing. They notice positive signs along the way; no broken branches from walkers, squirrels and small animals that live off the vegetation in this area. 

It seems like a good spot for someone once upon a time to have located their hunting cabin or vacation bungalow. Whatever vacation was and why they would spend money on a place in the forest, Daryl wouldn’t know.

And there it is, right before dusk is falling. A small, abandoned cabin with a porch and a lock and boarded up windows. Beth almost wants to laugh and cry again.

“Home sweet home?” Daryl drawls, before he thinks.

 _Shit,_ he really is becoming domesticated, even among the brush and dirt of the forest. Grimacing at the girl next to him, he’s realistic enough to silently acknowledge it's probably her doing. One of those simultaneous things that annoys and also sorta charms him - like her singing. 

**_There ain't no juke box so.._ **

Daryl busts open the lock and bangs open the door. As they slowly enter, it’s obvious no one’s been here for a while. And though Daryl feels uneasy about being locked in, he knows from the density of brush and hills that there are little to no walkers here.

 _Now people on the other hand_ , he thinks as he unconsciously grips his crossbow.

Beth looks through the scattered supplies sprawled throughout the cabin; there’s a few clothes options for men and women. She gets to work. Cutting rags and looking for something to change into.

Wanting to give her some well-deserved privacy he shuffles out the door.

“I’ll be close by. Gonna catch some dinner,” he says, with unrealized confidence.

Beth rolls her eyes. Loving how unsure he is in anything unfamiliar to him, but at the same time a confident jackass when he knows what he’s doing.

Once those wretched, filthy clothes are off Beth immediately feels better. Even if these new cargo pants are a bit tighter and dusty with lack of circulation in the room. She feels clean with the rags she tied together and new underwear – even if it’s men’s underwear that she had to roll up a few times.

When Daryl comes back with a squirrel, he raises it high like a trophy. To them it was.   

They build a minor fire within a tin bin found in the cabin, roasting the dead animal over it. Glancing at each other as they eat, both can tell that the other is content and they instinctively thrive off that.

In fact, Beth’s sure she never felt so happy. And she almost feels guilty for thinking it, when she knows there is so much in the past to have been happier about. But she can hardly feel any of it now.

When her pain from the terrible day erases so easily in his presence. When she is so alive in this moment, with the only person she knows and wants to know.

Daryl looks up from his meal and sees her staring at him. He can tell she has grown wistful again but to be honest, and he doesn’t know why because these kind of things used to bother the hell out of him, he doesn’t really mind at all.

But that doesn’t mean he'll stop giving her shit for it. 

“Gonna start cryin’ again Greene?” he scoffs. 

“Ha ha," she voices, throwing his joke back in his face. "Better watch out or I’ll ask you to braid my hair."

“Yeah, well you’d be lucky y'didn’t end up with a shaved head."

“Hey Daryl?”

“What?” he asks, hesitantly, at the abrupt end of their joking.

“I’m so glad I made it out with you,” she says, in the most meaningful way. Like she never meant something more in her life.

Daryl feels his throat go dry. He used to lash out when something made him feel that uncomfortable, prickling emotion he feels now. But lately he just gets silent.

And all he can do is let out a mumbled, “Me too.”

Although it feels like a vomit of words are sitting on the back of his tongue.

After he takes first watch, Beth grabs one of the blankets from the mattress and quickly falls asleep in her nest. Daryl looks over at her petite form; soft and feminine in the face of such disgusting gore outside their windows. He always feels awful when he stares, but now he doesn’t. At least not as much.

Blonde hair curling along her face. He'll be honest - he didn't think too often of her in the previous years. She was just.. there. Part of the group, part of their survival story. Sweet and quiet Beth who sang songs to babies and hid behind laundry lines. Now? Now, Daryl didn't know if he'd ever be able to place a pin on what exactly Beth Greene is. Sometimes he can’t believe someone like her she made it out with someone like him. Feels guilty about it. If only he knew she felt guilty about the same thing, that she didn’t feel worthy enough either.

Was this how things could have been before the world ended, he wonders. Daryl couldn’t shake this unfamiliar feeling - how different they were in this very moment, but still so fitted with one another. Why did it feel so natural? Why were they here together? 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little scenario of the day after - continuing to face their differences but what makes them so good together. I don't really have anything left to write about them, just that they're at least safe together here.

Beth’s internal clock, the one that had been created ever since the farm burned down, shocks her into consciousness. She blinks unsteadily into the dim cabin as morning light streaks through the boarded up windows.

Though she felt better after resting, the ongoing pain in her lower abdomen still continues.  _Please go away,_ she silently wished.

Looking over at Daryl, she was surprised to see that he had fallen asleep against the corner of the wall with his crossbow at arm’s length. They always took turns for watch. Beth couldn’t believe that he had allowed them both to sleep at the same time.

 _He must feel safe here_ , Beth inwardly hopes. For she wanted to rest a few more days in this small cabin.

Turning over in her blanket, she quietly unzips her pants and quickly switches her rags with a clean one from the ones she cut up last night and left beside her. Though she tries to slowly get up in order to not wake Daryl, his trained ears detected her first footsteps. He was up and before her in seconds.

“Hey, everythin’ is alright. We both fell asleep,” Beth explained to his sluggish form.

Daryl’s eyes were still drowsy. His hair poked up in different spots. Beth had to restrain herself from laughing, he looked like a little boy.

“Guess I was more tired than I thought, shoulda been watchin',” he mumbles, with a trace of guilt.

Like he was tardy on the job. All professional.

“No need to be apologizin’ Mr. Dixon,” she laughs it off.

Sensing she was having a joke at him, “Did y'hear me say sorry?”

Beth rolls her eyes. “Right, you ain’t never sorry for nothin'.”

A shiver goes up his spine - she was even starting to talk like him. “Should get goin’ now.” He peers out the cracks of the windows suspiciously.

Beth dreads the thought of trekking miles in the woods to another spot for them to sit. Can’t they just stay here for the time being?

Daryl turns and sees her resolute stillness. “What?”

“I want to stay 'nother day or two.”

“Ain’t safe stayin' in one place too long,” Daryl sighs, rubbing the scruff on his chin. He’s too tired for this right now.

“Well if we had gotten my bag I’d be okay, this is the only option we have presently.”

“Thought there was stuff here y'could use?” Daryl asks, vaguely motioning around the cabin. He doesn’t desire to go that into detail.

“Yeah, plain rags that I gotta cut up and burn and we’re near that stream," she explains. "I know you dunno anythin’ about it but I need to keep clean, I’m not gettin’ an infection.”

He doesn’t know how to argue with this. And it's definitely out of his area of expertise. When he knows she right and there’s nothing left to say, with her hands on hips like she’s scolding him, Daryl recognizes he’s already gave in.

“Fine,” he grunts.

Not sure of what to do with their extra time, Daryl guesses it would be good time to stock up on some meat for the day. Swings his crossbow over his back.

“Gunna do some trackin’,” he says as a goodbye.

“Wait! I’ll go with ya.”

Beth grabs her knife and places it into her belt. She wants to learn more about tracking while she can. Plus, she warmly thinks, this is something they’ve been doing together now. Too bad they weren’t on the same page this time.

“Hold up.” He doesn’t know exactly where he’s going with this. “Ya ain’t feelin’ right, said you'd leave a trail anyhow,” he says, knowing that it wasn’t good for hunting when apparently all she had was bloody rags.

Her eyes defensively at him. “I’m fine right now Daryl, I’ll go back when I need to.”

“Hm, thought y'said you needed 'ta stay here a few days,” he sarcastically reminds her, heading out the door.

“Jerk,” she mutters, and grabs the used rags from her blanket pile and bundles it up.

When she makes it outside she starts digging a shallow hole in order to bury it in the earth so that the scent isn’t left out in the open. Hopefully they'll just keep a fire going for the next few days so she can just throw it into the flames. Turning around, she sees Daryl pacing the outline of the forest and pretending to give her privacy.

With that, they were both grumpily hiking through the woods. Pushing branches out her way, Beth inwardly thinks, _I th_ _ought I was supposed to be the moody one today._

But as she watches him, sturdy and quiet as he expertly follows the trail of some animal, she suddenly starts to feel self-conscious. Like every movement of hers is some loud display. Scaring off all living things in the forest - Daryl included. Her missing embarrassment from before comes in full fledged; feeling like she’s in the way again. That it would be easier without her here. She feels guilty for coming along, for even being with him at all. 

Daryl, oblivious to her internal turmoil, simply points to broken branches and quietly crouches down behind a tree trunk, signaling for Beth to follow. They wait and wait and wait. Tick tock tick tock. Beth begins to see where Daryl’s underlying patience (the one that is behind all that quick anger) comes from.  _Does he have to be this patient with me?_ she wonders.

She can imagine the answer. Or at least her fear can imagine it. The worst scenario that fear finds is _his_ potential disdain. The image of Daryl gritting his teeth at her very inadequate presence. Because all she wants to be was by his side. Weren't they partners? 

Well not entirely the full sense of  _partners,_ she bitterly acknowledges. 

And then is forced to also acknowledge the disappointment that comes with that. The sheer embarrassment that lingers in this unspoken rejection. Beth could never hide her feelings, they stained her sleeves like she just trudged through dirt. And dealing with emotions and Daryl was like an army crawl through a long, muddy field. 

But - suddenly interrupting her thoughts - there’s finally a fat rabbit emerging from the bush. And Daryl is quietly pulling her arm and placing it on the crossbow trigger, steadying himself behind her. Lining up the shot to point it directly at the animal, and with a whoosh and pull it’s down before Beth could let out a gasp of air.

Daryl looks cockily at her, smirking as he stands up to retrieve their prize. “What I say Greene, gunna make y'into a redneck asshole after all.”

But she knows that’s just a joke, he doesn’t see her like that without him in the picture. She was never tough like the others. 

As he skins the animal with his long and sheared knife, Beth gives him space because she feels like a little kid staring at him doing all the work. By this point, she's skinned some animals. He could ask her to help.

But he doesn't.

Instead, she notices some elderberries in the bushes next to them. She picks them carefully, taking the ones that have not yet been shriveled by the upcoming frost. She can't help but feel the obvious implication of their current jobs. 

“Hunter and gatherer,” she bitterly states.

Isn’t that what they individually were?

Beth gathered. She gathered freshly-learned skills to help their prison group in any way possible. Gathered the children. Gathered their resources and made inventories and systems. Gathered information. Gathered all their memories and moments and stored it away like some human scrapbook. Was it even important? And yes, he hunted. Hunted for animals and men and walkers to kill so they wouldn't be killed in return. Hunted for supplies and for the future.

Hunters and gatherers - in all kinds of ways.

Except… except this right _here_ wasn’t the full relationship of a hunter and gatherer. Beth rolls her eyes at the world-history lessons she had learned in school; about archaic civilizations and how men and women coexisted together in the wild. 

Doesn't seem to be the answer for her and Daryl.

Just like they weren't the full relationship of partners. Which makes her even more bitter. Beth was so exhausted from having these pent up thoughts about him. And her. Always the feeling that every little thing about herself was in the way, blocking the road. 

While Daryl’s brow furrows at her odd statement. What was she getting at? His senses tell him that something is off; that he should be nervous.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

At that, he raises a confused look in her direction.

“Being _here_ with me?” She clarifies, in her southern belle voice.

Does she even know her voice does that? He can’t help but question.

“Cause y'could have gotten out with anyone else," she self-consciously states. "And now you’re stuck _here_ , camped out because I’m in too much pain to go anywhere. Honestly, I’m probably more trouble to keep 'round."

 _Fuck_ , he thinks to himself. Little Beth. Who would have thought she liked to stir the pot every chance she got? Cause she did. 

Looking at her messy hair and sea-like eyes, she's a storm in the distance. One he doesn’t know how to navigate or predict. He's never had the right answers. Again, like so many times before, he feels the word vomit but it remains trapped in his throat.

He casts his eyes back to the ground, shrugs his shoulders. “Y'ain’t too much trouble," he simply states.

And then nothing. 

Silence. Just silence ringing on. It seems so heavy in the already quiet forest. 

 _Shit, shit, shit_ , Daryl inwardly chants. Her face.

This is why he can’t be more for people - he wasn’t able to give enough. And hell if he knew what a woman wanted to hear. It's all been stripped from him and Daryl doesn't know if he even wants to fix it. 

But he can tell she’s holding back emotion. That his insufficient answer wounded her. Beth turns back to the berries, picking them in an even slower manner. Daryl feels a pulling need to say something. Anything. He hates seeing the back of her head - like that time she turned away from him after he snarled that faith didn't save her father. 

_**Wouldn't kill you to have a little faith.** _

Her faith in him. After _everything_. So he gets up.

“You.. ain’t any trouble cause y'pull weight in all kinds a ways.” Daryl basically rambles to his feet.

When he raises his head to fully look at her - she's short and almost easy to miss in the brush of the forest. His gut twitching painfully at the thought of ever missing her.

**_You’re going to miss me so bad when I’m gone, Daryl Dixon._ **

Against his will, he remembers the fall of the prison when all he wanted to do was stare into the fire and go numb like his body did as a second nature. But like a rock against glass she broke him into a million pieces. And sometimes Daryl hated it; felt like he was still shattering and it would never make sense. Yet, she picked up piece by piece and didn’t care if her hands were bloodied.

So in return, he owes her some kind of assurance. Even if it already didn't feel like enough in his own ears - because every day there was a growing bubble of words inside him that he didn't understand. Maybe he didn't want to understand.   

“Beth,” Daryl starts.

When does he ever _really_ say her name out-loud? It feels like a cold drink on his tongue. Something inside of him wants to say it more, to drink it deeply. Even if it's a drink he should refrain from - like moonshine in the afternoon. 

“Y'changed things and now it wouldna’ be the same.” Daryl feels blood pooling upwards to his face. _Ugh_ , this sounded worse than he imagined.

But hopefully the sincerity of his answer eased whatever was bothering her. It's all he could hope for - even if the word vomit had not been purged. Like there was still something important stuck inside his mouth. But he was well practiced at being quiet. 

Meanwhile, Beth was partly restraining a smile at his discomfort. She knew she shouldn’t revel in it but, hey, he embarrassed her too. Of course that wasn’t the important part, she was almost shocked to actually hear this answer. 

It opened her heart's true desire - ready for something new and worth all the trouble of this terrible world. 

Because Beth vividly remembered the last time the air between them grew thick with implication and tension. The moment tucked away and unanswered. And just like last time - it had started with her probing questions and followed by his reluctant admission.

A deep longing moment; candles in the dark and talking with Daryl about hope of better things. In the few words that he possessed, at the funeral home, he revealed that it was okay to believe in good things. Good people.

It was the best moment she had out here. And they've been ignoring the weight of it for too long. 

So she  _changed_ things? Could this be it?

**_What changed your mind?_ **

**Oh.**

He never did fully give an answer that night in the funeral home, not before things went to hell in a hand-basket after the walkers barged in. 

“Changed huh... So what did change your mind? That night?” she fervently questioned. Although she knew the answer, she needed to know what it meant. 

But Daryl grimaced in exasperation or pain, he couldn’t really tell by this point. 

She had to go _there_? Wasn't his answer enough? He knew he was not yet ready for the whole of it, not back to that entirely unlucky night when he let everything he inwardly felt slip to the surface. He didn't understand it then and didn't particularly want to now.

Daryl followed the directions of an inward compass inside of him - if something felt wrong or embarrassing or frightening - he'd ignore it. Walk in the other direction that the compass pointed to. So he was allowed to tell Beth that she "changed things" because it was part of their routine; comfort her when she needs it - which was only fair since she's done it for him. He owes the favor. But his compass wouldn't allow him to tell her that she was the sole reason for changing his mind for the better; for faith in life and people. Because what did that say?

The arrow said it was wrong. It's a dangerous kind of thinking. A _stupid_ kind of thinking. And they can't afford to be stupid.

“Gotta know everythin' don’t chu?” he answered, throwing an accusing arm flick in her direction. 

“Yeah and you gotta avoid it all.” Beth raises her hands right back at him.

His quiet anger, that always seems to be laying dormant until it's fitfully woken up, rears it's ugly head. 

“The hell y'think we are? Some ol' married folk arguin’ about our flaws?” Daryl spits out. Feeling mean.

Why does she make him so bipolar? Wasn't he just complementing her a minute ago and _now_ they're fighting? 

“Afraid I’ll hurt you or somethin'? That it?”

“Beth,” he seethes through his teeth, and leans closer. Hating what she's insinuating. “Stop.”

“Why?" she defies. "Why can’t you talk to me about this? I see how y'look at me, I’m not an idiot."

And that revelation forces him to back up a few steps. He shakes his head in anger or humiliation - it's all the same to him. 

"Cause I look at you the same way,” she finishes. Laying everything out on the table. She doesn't want to avoid it any longer. She can't. 

Daryl feels the nervous, restless tick turn him back into that old person he wished would finally disappear. The one that was supposed to be burned away at the cabin. Strange how old ghosts stick around.

 ** _You have to put it away._**   ** _Or it kills you._**

Yet he doesn't know how to put  _this_  one away - Beth. He was keen on ignoring it as long as possible. Even if it felt like dry swallowing a huge pill, with a lump constantly stuck in his throat. Maybe it really would kill him, sometimes it did feel like he was choking to death.

But Daryl should have known that ignoring things was not one of her strong suits. Unlike him.  

“So we have to talk,” Beth rushes forward, partly chasing him. 

“Yeah, dunno know why you’re actin’ surprised. I’m a dick.” He tries dissolve this entire situation, like salt in hot water. 

Because it would only end in blood and guts.

“You’re afraid I’ll die? And then you’ll be even more alone,” Beth says, like it’s no big deal.

“Tha's enough!" he yells. 

Daryl knows his voice is hitting that desperate, raging tone. 

“Screw that! Don't you see there's no time left, that one minute is all we got? Why is it you and me? Why are we here _together_ and why is it okay? When everythin' is so wrong, my Dad's gone and our family lost,” Beth breathes out. “Why is it still okay? Because it wouldn’t be if I were with anyone else.”

If the world was still in order Daryl swears there would be a clock noisily ticking in the background. Because against his better senses, he partly gets what she's saying. How tragic is it that there's finally someone in his life that matters at this level - one who made him believe in goodness and all that crap - but it's at the end of the world where nothing is safe and where there is no time left but to act now. And _shit_ , does Daryl know that he's never been good at timing.

His voice feels hoarse but his current anger, like a quick flame, has been blown out. Now he just feels tired. He just feels sad.

“Beth, I ain't right." He motions to his chest. “Don't got what'chu want.”

“And what do I want, Daryl?”

 _Ugh, why?_ Daryl cringes, turning his body away as his embarrassment fizzes back up.

“Cause what I want is for us to start being honest, to act honestly,” she says, while stepping up closer to him.

With her doe eyes settled below his line of vision, he wants to shuffle backwards and forward at the same time.

“And what does that even entail?” he scoffs, as he is forced to look away.

Daryl decided he has nothing left to contribute to this conversation, because he didn't know what to give in the first place. Maybe he'll run farther into the forest, make a long day of hunting and never to return to this discussion. Drop the whole matter like a bad habit. He did mean to quit smoking, eventually. It could be good practice for quitting a bigger and more dangerous habit - Beth. 

Daryl grapples with his crossbow, swinging it across his back in a fidgety manner. The rabbit lays skinned on a rock surface below him. He considers his escape. Back to the cabin or deeper into the woods? Although he bitterly acknowledges that he won't go far. 

How strange is it to want to run away but at the same time feel tightly bound to what's making you flee in the first place. It's like fighting with one of your own appendages, you cant run away from part of yourself. 

Lost in these nonsense thoughts, Daryl almost jumps out of his skin when her hand suddenly reaches up to his face. But Beth tries her best to calm him with a look of assurance, like the ones he would give her when she was afraid. Not afraid of him, but of other men and walkers and nightmares. 

Staring at her face, just like he did that one night long ago, and with no where left to run Daryl can’t help but remember his answer to the question she asked.

 **_So you do think there are good people?_** **_What changed your mind?_ **

Beth **.**

Doesn’t she know it was her _?_

And in one graceful movement, like all her moments Daryl has time to sarcastically think, her lips are sealed on his.

Too bad she doesn’t have her cowboy boots anymore, with their heal and arch. Because she’s tiny before him in flatter sneakers, trying her best to stay on her toes. So he’s leaning down to help her before he can even think better of it.

And now he can’t think of anything else except how she still smells like the others; like Judith’s baby powder, Carl’s gunshot shells, Carol’s laundry baskets, the farm and the prison and everywhere he’s known her. Right until now. 

The deep rooted loneliness Daryl has known all his life feels dug up and bared vulnerably to the sun. Yet, it is the warmest place he’s ever been.

She tastes completely different though, of everything that is individually Beth; woodsy and still sweet somehow. The smell of sweat from unwashed clothes. Her lips move patiently against his self-consciousness, lightly sucking the breath out of him. Her tongue gently poking against his own lips and with that he grips her slender waist for support as she moves closer into his space. As her legs blend into his rigidness, his breath hitches.

When was the last time he was kissed? He doesn't want to admit that answer.

Daryl can feel where they both meet below and for some reason he remembers she’s bleeding like it's still no big deal. He almost wants to laugh at how brave she is while he's the one running scared; she bleeds and also bleeds her heart out.

Finally, Daryl abruptly pulls away as he gains back his senses. Backpedals a few feet.

But at least they don’t shirk from each other’s vision. He sees a small, triumphed smile with that _‘told you so look’_ on her face.

Great.

He’d bet a hundred dollars that his face looks he just saw a UFO.

"Didn’t want to scare you off, but this is what I wanted to show you. Sorry if I was rough.” She cocks her head and bares her teeth in a smile, joking at how their roles of “masculine” and “feminine” have been reversed. And Beth notices that she likes having the power, it suits her. She doesn’t feel too guilty anymore.

Daryl just shakes his head, grimacing at the thought of Merle watching this show.

"Shouldn't do that," he rasps. He means the whole thing, but particularly the kiss. 

He’s not quite sure what she expects of him, or what he even wants of her. But like she said, time wasn’t on their side. Their only ally out here was one another. But at least he openly understands his answer to her question. Daryl knows something has **_changed_**.

Whether that change is bad or good, he guesses it will be found out soon. He always had a seat open for pessimism. And she for optimism. Their 50/50 bet. 

“You mad?” Beth asks, even though she doesn’t mind if he is.

Glancing sideways at her, she’s staring straight ahead in a relaxed pose. He grabs the rabbit meat.

“Maybe y'have more reason to be pissed at me,” Daryl contemplates, walking them back in the direction of the cabin.

The warmness she felt from their fire last night remerges; filling her belly. There’s a stupid smile on her face that she is unable to shake. 

"I ain't mad," says Beth. 

And she shifts her smile to share with him.  

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh one more, I was bored and miss them :(

Despite whatever level was reached after the kiss, their interactions went on pretty much the same as before. They understood that something lingered between them, but Beth didn’t know how to execute a proper transition. Like they'd draw up some official papers on their new business deal, a partnership for a new future -  _How should they hammer out the details?_  Beth humorlessly thinks. 

This wasn’t the normal world. It wasn’t like they could decide on how much time to spend together. They were never apart. Daryl wished he could clear his head, leave, and come back.

They weren’t normal people either - Beth in her youthful inexperience and Daryl in his own separate emotional inexperience. The next days in the cabin were the same conversations they’ve always had. Just with more implication.

Surprisingly (or maybe not), it was Beth who was the bold one. Of course she’d been the one to initiate all their intertwined endeavors; the moonshine, burning the house, faith in good people, all their fights and followed by their makeups.

Daryl’s sure he’s never had his ass kicked so many times. He’s never had something like this before. Were you supposed to get so irritated or fixated to the point where you couldn’t even think of anything else except how under your skin she got? Was it because they were always around each other, so he had nothing else to think of but her?

It’s hard to believe that. Because he cannot imagine being with anyone else and extending such thoughts to an outside person. This feels so singular. To him, to her.

And stiff.

The weird part was that, now, he didn’t know how to move around her. Immobility was even worse than before - in the early days when he was panicking over the girl he got stuck with. Now she's the girl who won't leave his head, and clumsy fingers feel it when she brushes close. Every movement felt too thought out. Too obvious. And Daryl hated being obvious. Wasn’t that a hunter’s main worry?

“So what’s this pathway leading toward?” Beth asks, while turning the crossbow towards him.

“Hey watch it.” Daryl pushes the crossbow down.

She’s insisted on continuing to learn how to track, doesn’t seem to care that her foot almost got eaten up by a bear trap near two months ago.

“Lower it when yer facin’ someone."

Beth lets out a laugh, “Sorry, I guess I’ll stand next to you then.” She smiles as she backs up toward him.

He feels his face getting hot when she examines him, what’s he supposed to do during these moments?

“A’right, keep goin',” he mumbles, and points to their direction.

Daryl remembers the familiar self-consciousness when concerning women. The few girls he'd known back home with their brashness. All their exchanges had been lacking any verbal input from him, completely unattached. Or whenever he was walking in a better side of town, the women in their clean clothes and pulled back hair would scoot farther away as he passed, their eyes downcast. He remembers not knowing how to move during all these times.

Except Beth, different than all those women, was the bold one but in the most innocent way. She’d sit close when they were huddled inside, while he held his breath and pretended to look relaxed.

She bats off long questions, " _Y'think it was lonelier as a kid or as a grown up?” “What was it like before your mom died?” “Would things change if we ever find the group again?”_

As if she was trying to discover the bigger picture of his life. And then paint herself in it too.

Daryl doesn’t know how they get to all these topics, or if he wants to answer them. Nonetheless, he usually spills more from his glass then he realized was possible. When he looks up and sees her already smiling at him.

In her genuine kindness, he could see how the group would mistakenly believe she was just a innocent girl to be protected. But after all this time, and on top of the years he had known Beth before, Daryl now sees an eerie gloom underneath all that goodness.

The kind that lay undoubtedly visible on her dainty, scarred wrist.

For she wasn’t loud about showcasing herself. He sees that Beth gave her opinions when she deemed necessary, or if provoked. It was almost solitary in a way - as seen by how unexpected actions arose from her with sudden virility. Her passionate words telling how she must have been stewing on those feelings for some time, letting it marinate before she spoke up.

Beth was always a surprise. You think you’ve got a handle on what to anticipate from her and then it turns out to be completely different.

When he yelled at her in the moonshine cabin, accusing her of cutting her wrists for attention and that she relied on others for protection, he expected a quick rebuttal or an explanation for herself. Instead she looked upset for unearthing a sore spot in his own skin. So he dragged her out of the house to make himself feel better - where she shockingly confronted him about _his_ own issues. He should have known he was screwed then. 

In the end, she sought out to make him see what she already knows - that everything, especially she herself, is temporary.

 _“ **I’m not Michonne, I’m not Carol, I’m not Maggie!”**_ or even worse,  _“ **I’ll be gone someday…”**_

In this afterworld, Daryl has met people who are set on living no matter the cost - many of those were people from their own group. And on the opposite end of the spectrum, he’s also known people at their very bottom and where they basically have joined the dead.

Beth wasn’t in either of these two groups.

She lived in her own type of realism mindset. One that embraced the desolation of this hungry world, but at the same time was willing to run from it when she could. This girl transcended all the molds of people he knew.

Because no matter how much it bothered him that Beth wholeheartedly believed she had an expiration date - a date she honored and respected so that they may enjoy life while they can - Daryl couldn’t help but be entranced by her simultaneous attachment and detachment. It was so different. He's always been the same; always been resolute in his own perception of life. For he, too, belonged to the group that's dead set on living - like a cockroach he'd crawl through every crack possible. It was sort of born in him. To survive no matter what. 

While she was the opposite; easily moving around like a chess piece in a broken game. Daryl wasn’t exactly sure what fraction of her scared him the most. He just knew the whole of her was his favorite part.

Actually, he worries that he’s much more predictable than her.

Soon she will realize it - he's boring. That there won't be much for her to rummage through. No secret treasure among the debris. When the mysteriousness of his past had worn off (due to her many probing questions) he wouldn’t have any mask left to hide behind.

Daryl was mechanical by his own very nature. He falls into routine and carries it out. It’s been _Beth_  producing the ripples in their partnership, like a skipping stone on a steady stream.

Even if he was their anonymously elected “leader,” as he knew the best trails to take and could kill the most walkers, it had never been in Daryl to be a real leader. In fact, had Rick ever died he thought it would have been someone like Maggie, Glenn, or Carol to step up to be the group’s next team captain. (Though Daryl tries not to think of the group - his guilt was running rampant at the idea of them knowing how he feels about Beth). 

Nevertheless, here was Beth spurring them to step up together. The weight of the responsibility made his hands unsteady and his heart beat unnaturally. He needed her help, because he couldn’t do this alone.

He needed her good-nature and even her eeriness. Was the change in their relationship going to ruin all of it? Change it?

**_What changed your mind?_ **

* * *

 

“Think we can make it to town today?” she ponders, as their cabin becomes unrecognizable in the distance.

They had stayed longer than Beth thought she could get away with.

“Let’s cross these woods first and see,” Daryl states.

He’s leading them in their new direction. But Daryl still doesn’t know if they should risk it. They should start stocking up for supplies from abandoned stores. Since they were staying to the woods for now, they would need new stuff.   

“Worried?” Beth correctly guesses.

“Nah,” he dismisses. “We got time 'ta figure it out.”

“Ha, but I thought time was all we didn’t have left?” she pokes fun at their conversations.

“Wise-ass."

* * *

 

They walk downhill most of the way as the forest ends on a slope. Before they can reach the end, where a silent road awaits them, they decide to take a break.

The woodland is still dense at this point. Beyond it, walkers are more likely to be roaming free especially on the open streets. But of course the real nightmare is the people. Even if there are still “good” ones like Beth insists. Daryl knows that there are far more rotten apples in the barrel. 

“Ya never know, it could be people like us.” She imagines as she sits down next to his side, always close as she can get.

“Yeah or more dumb-asses dressed like cops,” states a bitter Daryl.

He still intensely remembers the man who tried to drag her into that car with a cross. Doesn’t slightly regret the bolt that went through the bastard’s head.

“I’m not so sure. We’ve known a pretty great guy who wore a police uniform." 

Rolling his eyes, Daryl reminds her, “Rick didn't even wear that sheriff’s get-up anymore.”

“Once a cop, always a cop,” she says robotically, as if quoting the mantra of all police.

“Once a pig, always a pig."

Not that he had anything against Rick, he just can’t recall another cop that he ever liked. 

“Besides,” Beth brazenly starts. “Thought you said I _changed_ things. Don’t you believe everyone’s all nice and dandy now?” She bumps his shoulder flirtatiously.

**_It's like I said, there's still good people._ **

Daryl feels heat on his face again as she brings up his openly acknowledged feelings.

“Hm,” he mumbles, as it seems like a safe answer.

Again (like always) he doesn’t know how to move around her while she’s so close. Daryl feels outlandishly big in his body; like he's trying to pick up something small and his fingers are too thick to actually lift it. Big and dumb and guilty. His three magic adjectives. 

Looking up at the faint red in his cheeks, Beth feels a stir of emotion within her. Simultaneously, she wants to comfort him and embarrass him some more. The giddiness in her hasn’t stopped since she kissed him. Beth has felt a cagey urge of wanting him so badly but also not trying to spook him away. She can’t help but want to grip his arms and repeat that whole experience again.

And now here they are sitting close. Her thigh warm next to his - after days of chores and hunting and so much rest. 

So she looks over her shoulder to stare decidedly at him. Beth swallows the shyness that bubbles up at these opportune moments. She has to be the brave one - she knows that well.

Her gaze is so startling that Daryl has no choice but to look right back.

“What?” he self-consciously asks, after a beat.

She shrugs her shoulders but continues to smile that obvious grin.

“Beth." He shakes his head, as he sees where this is going.

Was it hormones? He can remember being young. 

Suddenly determined with bubbling energy, and thinking a bit of how Maggie smugly told her of springing herself on Glenn at the convenience store, Beth puts a hand to his shoulder and with a quick swing she’s bent over his legs, sitting on her knees. 

His head bucks back in surprise. It’s not like she’s quicker than him, his slow movements feel like his body is subconsciously trying to sabotage him.

Great.

Daryl would say something… probably. If he had any sense of what to say. Instead his hooded eyes move quickly across her face and body. It just happens, no control of his movements.

Beth’s smile remains but it softens as she takes in his apprehension. His shoulders are tense and high underneath her hands. And his own arms awkwardly moved with her as she hovered in front of him.

“Daryl,” she soothes, and places one hand on the crane of his neck.

She knows what it’s been like to feel loved. She knows what it like to be told you’re beautiful, smart, interesting. To be wanted. It wasn’t really a big deal to her, yet she got to hear it all the same. She doesn’t have to wonder the things that have been said to Daryl his whole life.

Beth can’t understand why others didn’t see past his gruffness in their former lifetime. Look through it all right to those blue eyes and broad shoulders and quick wit. He’s valuable and thoughtful and so damn handsome – yes she does want him in every single way. 

But his feelings of inadequacy are plain on his face every day. And Daryl feels twice as guilty for how young she is. It also doesn’t help that she’s petite against him with gentle features on her symmetrical face. Because she looks _exactly_ like what he feels bad about. When was the last time he even washed dirt off his own face? 

“I’m happy a'right?” Beth invades his panic.

Daryl furrows his eyebrows.

“So stop,” she knowingly tells him.

His eyes finally still on her soothing face. Didn’t he still break out when he was her age? Near twenty-years-old, wasn’t he get angry at the whole world while she in the middle of the apocalypse is _happy?_ He sighs in exasperation. Beth said she only had a certain amount of time left, but doesn’t she see that she’s actually timeless. Does she even truly have an age?

 _Yes, she does. Stop makin’ excuses for fallin’ for someone who's barely twenty._ He hears a tiny and steadily less-significant part of him criticize.

Just for this small fraction of time, Daryl’s done listening as her blue eyes grow dark, his own body turning on autopilot against his wishes.

Suddenly her lips that are so close seal over him. 

All his senses are focused as his rough hands hover to her sides where soft curves sit, not quite knowing where to land. Ignoring the gore and horror that awaits outside of their moment. Wrapped up in one another like a new gift.

Beth’s never been kissed like this. Sure she's been with boys, but you can hardly call Daryl that. Against his lips, they feel bruising and overpowering and even needy. 

Her body tingles in happiness that she hasn’t experienced before and for once Beth feels exactly like where she’s supposed to be. His goatee scratching against her face as she pants heavily into his mouth. Beth can’t help but enjoy his heavy weight as he leans slightly over her, her leg meshing closer into his. Her hands go inside his jacket, dragging him closer to her own chest. To be as close together as possible, becoming one body together rather than two. 

Their fumbling hands and needy kisses go on longer than she expected him to allow – similar to her surprise over how long they stayed at the cabin. 

But all too soon when Daryl pulls back, Beth switches to lightly kisses his neck. He lets out a ragged sigh as he catches his breath while scanning the horizon of the woods. It's never smart to lose focus out here.

Looking down, her face is red in some places from the rub of his facial hair. _Oops_.

“We should go,” he resiliently states. Quickly untangling himself from her warmth, practically jumping over her. And tries to think of walkers and guts and anything else that will cool his body off.

He was stupid to let it go that far. Stupid in general.

Stupid.

What is he doing? What is he _doing_? 

Beth, of course, immediately wants to talk about it. Or tease him. Or make him feel good about himself. All at the same time – she’s bursting at the seam with their new experiences together. And it’s not like she can call her best friend and analyze this moment. No, its only him and her.

Him and her.

“That was nice,” she smiles at him, while he picks up their gear. "Right?" 

Shaking his head, Daryl squints up at the direction they're heading.

“And you’re so damn handsome.” Beth pokes his shoulder, vocalizing everything she’s been thinking about him.

At that, Daryl shoots her a look to gauge if she’s making fun of him or not. When he sees her tilted head and coy smile, it makes his stomach tighten. What is she trying to do?

“Yer a freak,” he resolutely states. At least he's being halfway truthful. 

Maybe he could tell Beth she’s beautiful. Or that sometimes it hurts to look at her. But those things never sounded right coming from his mouth. Daryl was a man of action. But what is he supposed to do when his motions are rendered in her presence, what can he do for her then?

“Yeah I guess I am,” she laughs. “But you’re one too.”

“We can’t just be foolin’ a'round, one of us has' ta be on look out,” he scolds their behavior. 

“This mean you expect to be foolin' round sometime in the future?” Beth asks in jest shock.

Daryl winces deeply at the implication of his words. That’s why it’s better to just keep his mouth shut.

“Ain’t saying nothin'."

“Course not,” she allows.

“I’m serious Beth.” 

“Me too. I’m always serious.”

“Yeah and I’m Bette Davis,” he sarcastically remarks.

Beth noticed how he often pulls up old pop culture references, now and even when they were with their group.

“You liked old movies?” she asks, as if they were on a first date.

Daryl strategically notes the change in conversation, where is she going now?

He shrugs. “What’s it to ya?”

“Just curious,” she smiles. “Solvin' a puzzle.”

“Guess _you_ would think they’re _old_ movies.”

“Puh-lease,” Beth laughs. “Those were my grandpa’s era. Way before your own time.” 

“My own time, huh?” Daryl muses.

Beth bumps his shoulder as they walk down the end of the forest.

“What?” she questions.

“Ain't you bothered?” he asks, judgement in his voice. “By my age?”

“What age?” Beth breathes out. “Aren’t we both two adults at the end of the world?”

“Hm.”

“Why? Bothered by mine?” she asks.

Daryl stops and scans oncoming road ahead of them, laying just outside the brush and protection of the trees. Turning back toward her, he decides to be honest.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Oh."

Beth had no idea that it would bother him - she just thought he felt guilty in general.

“Well stop,” she reassures him. “There’s no time to be guilty about something little as that.”

“But you are _little_. That there is the problem.”

Well one of the problems. One of the many, many problems.

“Daryl. I'm a damn grownup. And on top of that I’ve watched everyone in my life die or be uprooted. Think if the world went back to what it was, I’d be the same kid from years ago? Hell, even if none of this happened I wouldn’t be that girl anymore. You know why? Because I’m older, _actually_ an adult.”

Daryl looks down, mulling over her tangent. It was true. This awful world did make you older and more harrowed. He felt it every day. But then doesn’t that make him twice as old as her? Guess, these things don’t matter like they used to in civilization. If it was the same society, he doesn’t even think he’d be allowed alone in a room with a girl like Beth.

“Don’t beat yourself up over somethin' that we can’t control. Time and age and whatever… it’s never on our side, right?”

“Real, fine excuse,” he grunts, low and mostly to himself.  

She would convince him, even if it took some time. Beth knew she could.  

“Besides,” she moves closer. “I liked old movies too.”

And this time Daryl actually smiles - just a bit. 

* * *

 

It’s a ghost town. Literally.

There's barely walkers haunting these parts. Which doesn’t give Daryl a good feeling in the pit of his stomach.

_Who’s keeping the place this way?_

Beth’s been practicing killing the few straggler walkers that approach. Avoid the arms. Quick knife to the head, bouncing on her heels to reach it, avoid the arms. She feels a thrill in doing so. Before the prison, she only killed walkers that crowded the gates. She had more experience with Daryl than she did all those months before.

He motions her to be quiet when they reach the first store. It’s a very, very small town – with their main street possessing all the buildings. The town houses lay in the adjacent distance. Daryl said to avoid those for now. It’s an in and out mission.

Once inside they see most of the food has been already taken. There’s a faint rotten smell in the air from the old produce and groceries that have long expired. It seems every building they have come across stinks to high heaven in some way – be it from the walkers, the dead, or the rotting leftover things from a life before. But there’s a few bags of chips, a fruit can, peanut butter, granola bars. Better than they could have hoped. 

When they reach a small and dingy boutique shop, Beth wants to cry in relief at the idea of changing clothes again. 

Daryl takes in the store obviously targeted for women.

“Think they got anythin' in my size?” he jokes.

“Mm probably not,” Beth draws out. “We can go search the houses for some?”

“Nah I’m good,” Daryl rests his hands on his flannel and leather jacket. If he’s warm, he can’t complain.

Beth swiftly grabs a warm sweater and some new underwear and socks. She’s going to wear them now. They can’t afford to keep too many spare clothes in their bags. Just extra shirts or a pullover that is big enough so either of them can use it if necessary.

She almost goes into the changing stalls, but stops herself. That's kind of pointless. Anyway, who cares? 

"I'm gonna change," Beth warns over her shoulder. 

Then she sheds her shirt and quickly pulled down her pants. Before slipping on her new sweater, she hears Daryl’s footsteps moving further away. Turning back around she could see red around the back of his neck. And it made her smile inwardly at how bashful he can be. Honestly, he’s even shyer than she is. Just another thing she likes about him. She didn't know that until after the prison fell. Beth had previously known he was quiet and insecure, but since they've gotten out together she's finding out all these new and wonderful discoveries. 

“Much better,” she says, pulling on a new jacket as well.

“Ya done?” His foot tapping. 

“Yes, next stop?”

“Gunna head to the far end real quick. Check if there’s still an ammo store, last I remember there was. Small towns,” he huffs.

“Shouldn’t I come?” Beth questions.

“Nah, man the fort here,” he suggests. “If there’s anyone round’ these parts, up there is where they’d station themselves.”

And then he’s out the door.

Figures he left her in a small clothing store, with no secret doors or hallways for something to sneak up on her. But where there was plenty of material to hide behind.

However, Beth felt a little resentment watching his figure through the door, getting smaller as he crossed the sidewalk. She could help him. Hasn’t she proven that? Or was it not enough yet?

Facing the only direction she thought someone could barge in from, Beth didn’t hear when the dressing room door open. 

“Angry at your boyfriend for leaving you?”

Twirling around as fast as she could, Beth came face to face with a strange man.

The store’s layout was simple and open, no back rooms except for those changing room doors where you could see the floor. He must have lifted his feet, sitting on a hidden bench that some dressing rooms had inside. Beth should have thought about it - Daryl wouldn’t have from lack of experience. They saw nothing when they came in, nothing when they ducked their heads to the bottom door and didn’t see bodies. Nothing.

But this was definitely not 'nothing' now.

Beth’s hand ached to reach behind her and grab the knife secretly fashioned underneath the hem of her sweater. She stopped herself. Surprise was a smarter game plan.

“He’s jackass,” says the roughly dressed man, and he waves over at her. “Leaving something like you alone.”

Beth intakes an icy breath.  

“He’ll be back before you know it,” she warns. What was this man even doing in the store?

An then he pulls out a gun. He smiles and she sees missing teeth. 

“No, we’re going to take a walk. C’mon.” The man points toward the door.

“Okay, okay,” Beth purposefully sounds like she’s panicking more than she is. “Just don’t hurt me.”

She backs up fully to the door, clenching its handle.

 _You can do this,_ Beth inwardly chants.  

“Should I go first or you?” she obediently asks, backing up one step at a time.

“Go ahead, I’ll shoot if you run.”

When she’s out the door, Beth slows her pace. Knowing the man would grab her then and she’d be close enough to his body.

_You can do this._

Breathe in and out in and out. 

In and out.

And then he does it - strongly gripping her shoulder. 

But having anticipated it, Beth is able to maneuver around while grabbing her knife. Knife into neck.

Different than killing walkers. And there’s blood dripping down her hands.

Different than her own blood which he had promised. No, it’s his blood, this awful man’s blood.

But it looks the same as everyone else's. Like her mom's. Like her dad's.

Human. 

He’s falling down down down flat into the pavement. And there’s rigging in her ears. Should she run to Daryl? Should she stay here?

Shaking hands refasten her bloody knife. And then heaves and drags the man by the feet, back into the store, hiding the body just in case.

He’s so heavy. It's so heavy all over.

Larger than life. But his life is over. And she's still breathing.

_Shit shit shit._

It seems like forever until Daryl returns with a new bag of goods. He nods pleasantly when he sees her face, but it quickly disenegrates into wide eyed shock as he takes in the blood on her new sleeves. At the body next to her feet.

“The hell? How’d he find you?” Daryl exclaims, whipping around the door to check to see if anyone else was out there.

Beth narrows her eyes as the suggestion that she got herself into trouble. “He was hidin' in the dressing room, must have moved his feet up or somethin'.”

“ _Shit_."

Daryl feels gross at the thought of having left her alone.

“I killed him,” Beth states, withdrawn.

“He hurt you or anythin?” he panics, growing even more sick.

Beth slowly shakes her head. "No." 

“A’right,” Daryl thinks out loud. Rubs the scruff on his face. “Real quick - gunna take you back to the woods then come for the rest of this shit.”

“ _What?_ No way."

“S'not safe for you here.”

“So you think every person who sees me is going to try and grab me?” she scoffs, sarcastically.

“It ain't funny Beth!”

“You don’t _think_ I know that?” She motions to the dead man on the ground. Her voice all high pitched.

Son of a bitch _,_ was she difficult. Beth wasn’t backing down. For the millionth time since he’s gotten out with her, Daryl feels like he’s about to burst.

“This is serious,” Daryl exclaims, in his own most serious voice. Harsh with a touch of cruelty. 

“I understand! Listen I dunno 'bout you, but I was concerned about dragged away long before the world went to shit. Wanna know why? Because bad people have always been out there. Y'know that. Yes, we gotta be more careful now but it’s not like this hideousness is some big, new surprise. We just need to keep movin'.”

He kicks over one of the clothes stands.

“Daryl be quiet!”

“You’re goin' back!”

“No! I get why you’re angry, I do. But this happened to me. I killed someone and y'know what, I’m gonna be alright,” Beth realizes as she says it out loud. “So let’s just finish the job. _Together_ okay?”

* * *

 

There’s not much else he can at that point, except gather up the supplies from their last stop and head out. They make an extra quick job of it, totally becoming an in and out mission. Doesn't help much that Daryl is ignoring her as well.

“Sure he didn't say anythin’ about a larger group?” he finally speaks again, as they finish.

“No, just wanted to take that walk. Maybe to others?” Beth questions.

Inside Daryl knows the truth - there was nobody one else. That monster was trying to get her alone. He wants to throw up at the thought of it.

“Still think there’s good people?” Daryl scoffs, sullenly taking out his anger on her.

Beth deflates at the idea of him losing faith. Faith in her too. 

“Well I’m good and you’re good,” she sighs. And turns her gaze to him. “So as long as we're here, there are still good people right?”     

Gently placing her hand on his arm, she tries to transfer every feeling of security she possibly can. 

“Today was hard, I mean someone’s dead but I did the right thing. And it was practice for the future, I’ll be more prepared next time.”

“Next time,” he grunts, sadly musing at the thought of someone trying to hurt her again. The inevitable. 

They make a camp once they hit a denser area of the forest. Daryl decides to figure out what direction they should go tomorrow. For now, they listen for signs of danger. Wait to hear anything in the distance.

Sitting down in their camp, Beth moves close to him again.

Because of the events of the day Daryl doesn’t feel as amicable as before. They shouldn't even doing this in the first place - what is he _doing?_

“Should keep yer hands to yourself,” he barks.

“What do you mean?”

“We _ain’t_ foolin' round,” Daryl angrily answers.

“I wasn’t tryin' to,” Beth's own voice rises in anger. He's way off the mark.

She’s never killed anyone before - not like this. Up close and personal.

The residue of red is still smudged on her hands, even after she attempted to wipe it off. And even after she changed out of the bloody shirt, there was still red marks on her wrists. She just wanted to be next to Daryl, to not be lonely. Weren't they partners? 

Beth stands up and rushes off. Not far but enough where she can lean against a tree and think by herself.

 _A man is dead and it's all at your feet._ She looks down at her shoes. "I don't see nothin'," she laughs oddly to herself. 

But her frenzied giggle stops short. It's really not funny. Her pulse thumps erratically as she pushes panic further down. 

 _I'm not going to cry. I don't cry over these things anymore._ No she'll only cry over the important things. Like the human moments that matter; Daryl showing that he cares, long talks, and memories. Not over this ugly shit. 

After a few minutes, she hears his footsteps behind her in the leaves. “I’m not mad,” Beth knowingly tells him, over her shoulder.

“Should be, I’m a dick.”

Turning around and giving him a glance over, she sees worried lines in his face but void of his previous anger. Crossbow on his back. 

He's always the same, isn't he?

Constant like the stars, his pathway clearly shown. Beth realizes it's a quality of his that delights her - for she's never been very constant. She feels like a million things at once. Old world and new. Scared but calm. Different in too many ways. Ways that she'll never fully outrun. But she loves being near his consistency, it's like being near the sun. It always rises in the morning. Warm too. 

“It’s okay,” she says with sincerity. “I just needed to think.”

“Feelin’ bad? 'Bout him?” Daryl motions towards town.

“I dunno know yet,” Beth answers. “That’s what’s botherin' me.”

“Did the right thing,” Daryl reminds her.

“I know.”

He doesn’t have any idea of what he should do. It’s like their last big argument, right before she kissed him. His throat burns with words he probably ought to speak. But Daryl still doesn’t possess the right language. He's not sure he ever will. He knows there's a ticking time bomb somewhere in their future. 

Instead, he just brushes his hand on her pink cheek, a thumb moving across the highest point.

She’s still so soft. Softer than she should be in this terrible universe. The reality of it breaks something inside Daryl, as he holds her face, that someday all softness will harden or be desolated in return.

 ** _Beth_**.

And for a second Beth closes her eyes and feels protected from everything - from all others but especially safe from herself. 

“What?” he asks.

“Thought you said we couldn’t fool around?” Beth laughs back up at him. She was always willing to find a light, and Daryl was as good as any spark to ignite.

“Y'are a freak."

Weren’t they both? Different, but the same in all the important ways.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this was less plot and more emotions, sometimes I get stuck in their heads. What can ya do.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK IMPORTANT NOTE - so if you never read this story before, I’ve been slowly adding chapters to what was previously a one-shot. Lately, I’ve rekindled my love for Bethyl and recently tried to write a new fanfic (which I posted and deleted it sorry). For some reason, I was just not feeling it. So instead, I’ve decided to add those ideas and moments to this story. I’m shooting for like maybe 13 chapters total? 
> 
> One thing I do feel bad about is that Daryl and Beth's feelings are kind of ‘established’ in a way already. There wasn’t that long of a wait for them to recognize that they had feelings for one another (starting as a one-shot I thought I’d just get it out there already). But don’t worry, they’re still in the beginning stages. I’ve also changed a few details in the first 3 chapters to make it flow better.

 

**_We gotta go Beth we gotta go._ **

And on they went.

Beth knew that the farther they physically moved, the closer they were tied to one another. As though they were last two people on Earth.

But of course they weren’t – which was often the topic of worry but also slight grandeur – could they imagine the joy of finding their family once again? The pure and elated happiness if that possibility happened.

And also, awkwardness.

Because would it even be the same now that things have changed between the two of them? And firstly, exactly _how_ much have they changed anyway? Beth watches the gruff man a few feet in front, keeping a fast pace.

He was still Daryl. She was still herself.

Ever since their run into town went awry, he’s kept an aloof presence. When she had killed a man and truly entered the threshold of the apocalypse; like some sort of wicked initiation party. The reality of makes Daryl's hands unsteady while Beth took the somber feeling in stride. She didn't want think about the blood on her hands. It was just something that had to be done. But she knew Daryl thinks about it - making him grow even more distant. 

They hunkered down a few days in the forest for safekeeping. Beth would move close to the warmth of his body, curling next to the weight of his arm.

And that was it.

Aside from a lingering pat on her shoulder earlier today they hadn’t made further progress.

Beth knew ‘ _this’_ was going to take ample time to become what she imagines a proper relationship felt like. She wants it all with him. As she examines his solitary figure, Beth worries that it won’t fully come to fruition.

She was naturally an affectionate person; it was just something that she took comfort in. She wants to reach out and hold his hand as they walked. But Beth can also imagine him giving it a small squeeze before looping out of her grasp – though she remembers holding his hand at the grave stones before the funeral home. He shifted in nervousness but he held on until she was ready to leave.

Already hugging, holding hands, and piggy back rides. He shouldn't be so surprised that _this_ happened between them. 

**_Its a serious piggy back, jump up._ **

And sure they've kissed two times. But their idyllic interactions were inconsistent, they were so spotty with one another. Ranging from angry fights, to intense conversations, to a spontaneous kiss, to spending days completely busy with important tasks. 

Even though their feelings were out in the open - like a deer about to be shot - their relationship (or _whatever_ they had going on she couldn’t even title it correctly) was still very murky. 

Because it’s not like they could plan a day to figure this stuff out. Their long days consisted of running around for supplies and hiding from walkers. There was a stormy period and the ground was slushy with mud. They clamored for higher ground and dry spots. Water needed to be boiled and sanitized. Food was scarce and they had to wait hours to catch dinner. At the end of the day they were exhausted and fell into the routine of first and second watch.

Beth would stare at his figure in discontentment as he slept.

None of this was what she planned when she had laid her heart out on the table. Bleeding in front of him like a meal to be consumed. Did he even finish the whole plate? Leftovers aren’t allowed in matters as vital as this.

She can’t believe she’s trapped with him in the classic, ' _wait so what are we exactly?_ ' charade.

Does it have to always be her that changes the tides of their dynamic duo? Is she the only ocean current that creates their waves? Beth only had so much confidence left before she sinks into the numbing pang of self-consciousness. How many times can she yell until he gets tired of the noise? From "I need a drink," to "we should burn it down," to "what changed your mind?" to "What did it mean?" When is he going to jump all the way in? Because she was already drowning in the water. 

She didn’t have this issue with Jimmy and Zach.

 _I guess that’s my problem_ , Beth muses.

He isn’t Jimmy or Zach. Not that it’s really a _problem_ , in fact it’s part of the appeal. He’s not like anyone she’s ever met, which also means she doesn’t quite understand how to navigate their advancing relationship.

Daryl is a full-grown man. Stuck in his ways. He knows his mind and probably a lot more than she does in her present youth. Opinionated and bull headed.

Yet, interesting. Selfless. And something that she could read a thousand times over and never grow tired of. She wants to know every inch of her discoveries and still that wouldn’t be enough. It never feels like enough.

But Beth can admit it - she rushed into things. Barreled in before checking both sides of the roads, and now it felt like she was the resulting roadkill that Daryl dutifully carried around. 

It had to be done though. Time was crucial nowadays. However, that doesn’t do much for romance. 

She cringes at that word. _Romance_ with Daryl. She can picture their badly written play:

 

**ACT 5**

(Scene 3. Georgia forest. Climax)

 _Infatuated maiden_ : I like you.

 _Emotionally-conflicted hunter_ : You shouldn’t.

 _Infatuated maiden_ : I don’t care and I know you like me too.

They kiss.

_End scene._

 

But the ‘ _end scene’_ is far from commencing. Perhaps the credits rolled after that moment, but their lives still go on. What are they supposed to do from here? How far is enough?

She hopes that’s not how Daryl sees it. Beth can’t quite articulate the whole situation, yet she knows that there's much more in-between the lines.

Because they were _right_ together. Right? 

Both of their individual stories meeting up like some sort of kismet ending. Both of them existed on the outskirts of the prison group in certain ways. She was restricted to the protected roles, while he was narrowed into patrol duties. They each operated with isolation of some sort.

**_We all got jobs to do._ **

But their steadfast jobs were annihilated along with everything else they had once owned. Their whole purpose in life blown apart in the wake of evil men and the flesh-torn-earth.

Yet, their identities still remain intact in the roles they play for one another, right now. And isn’t that kind of beautiful? How they’ve circled back to each other - finding new roles and new jobs in their new group, together? Discovered harmony and solidarity within their equally hushed personalities. All their differences and similarities intertwining into a strong rope; a lifeline to cling to. 

 _Maybe Daryl perceives it this way too?_ Beth wonders. Except he doesn't seem to be as active as her in dissecting these important matters. 

“See the trail goin’ clear that way.” He points to the ground. “Looks good right?”

“Yeah looks good to me,” Beth mildly answers.

Sounds familiar – what trail was clear for them?

He said she changed things, but how much? Or how little? For how long?

**_What changed your mind?_ **

* * *

 

The small bungalow sat enticingly in the near distance. It was on the outskirts of a farther neighborhood, the solitary lodging appealing to their desire to stay out of sight. They've been in the forest for long enough and a bed is a welcome reprieve.

“Let’s check ‘round back,” Daryl warns.

They made their respective checks. Knock knock. No one there? Good we’re coming in. Daryl aims his crossbow in each room before the coast was officially cleared.

Beth almost tells him that he kind of looks like an FBI agent or a cop, pointing the weapon in anticipation as he rounds the corners of the walls. She holds her tongue, knowing it’ll get her nothing in return but a dirty look. Even _though_ it would make for a good laugh. But she's been giving him enough shit lately.

Instead, she simply smiles at him. And she can see him drop his guard. Just a little bit.

“It’s nice,” Beth approves. “I'm glad we can actually stay the night.”

“No promises for tomorrow,” he informs. “Gotta hang this shit up.”

Heading for the bedroom, she strains her ears to hear any signs of danger from outside. Daryl was “locking up” for the evening; lining the house with the string of cans and metal so that they could have some sort of security system alerting them to danger.

Beth had chosen the room with two different beds. Even though the only other room in the house has one queen size bed. _Whatever,_  this was the more explainable selection.

When he pokes his head into the room, Daryl lingers by the door. “All clear,” he unnecessarily reveals.

 _Of course it’s clear,_ Beth inwardly rolls her eyes. He wouldn’t be standing calmly still if it wasn’t safe.

Daryl nods his head and tensely looks around. As if they hadn’t slept next to each other on the forest floor. As if they hadn’t _already_ kissed. But because it is an official room with a clean and tidy bed, he feels out of place.

“A’right," he eventually says, as a form of goodnight. And leans away from the door frame.

“Wait Daryl,” Beth starts. “Come lay down and get some real sleep for once. I’ll stand watch.”

“Nah g’head and rest.”

“I napped earlier remember? Seriously, I’ll be fine.”

But he doesn’t look convinced. Beth feels like it’s finally her turn to be the offended one.

“Don’t trust me?” she asks, with a laugh to take out the bite out of her accusation.  

He looks up at that, scrunching his face in surprise.

“Didn’t say that," he sounds perplexed.

“But it’s what you’re thinkin'.”

“That ain’t it, s’just my job to make sure..”

“Make sure we’re safe, I know,” Beth interrupts. “But how you gonna do that if you don’t sleep 'nough?”

Daryl looks at her stubborn face. Strange how easy tempered she is in so many other areas, but when she finds a moral obligation she’s as stubborn as mule. She’s like a backwards compass, headed directly towards the heart of things.

Angry about inconsequential matters such as sleep.

But Daryl’s body feels like he could drop to the bed and hibernate all winter. It’s just when there’s difficult decisions, like sleep versus death, considering the many terrifying consequences is more effective than any coffee combined.  

“Fine,” Daryl relents. “Just keep a good eye on tha’ window.”

He saunters over to the adjacent bed. Leaving on every article of clothing - even his shoes - just in case they need to run. Carefully places the crossbow on the night stand. Laying over the covers, he cautiously side eyes the girl next to him who seems to be intent on staring at him in place of the window. But Beth is smiling at their evolving partnership - she’s determined to get stronger. To let him have a break while she safeguards their well-being. 

Daryl sighs and closes his heavy eyes. Waits for sleep to consume him like everything else in this world.

But it doesn’t come.

He shifts his shoulders around trying to shut off his body. He’s comfortable enough on the weirdly soft mattress. It’s dark enough. And it's enough knowing Beth was watching out for danger. Yet Daryl still can’t slip into the blissful, ignorant state that awaits every sleeper.

After a couple of minutes of hearing his apparent inability to fall asleep, Beth decides to interject. 

“My mom used to yell at me to stop using the computer 'fore bed. It makes your brain fight shuttin' down."

“Wasn’t lookin’ at any computer, was I?” Daryl grumbles.

“But what we see every day is worse than anything on screen, from back then.”

“Yeah ‘spose so.”

“It’s the same thing though,” she tries to explain. “Gotta push all of the day’s images outta your head.”

“What do y’think I’m tryin’ to do?” he exasperatedly answers.  

“Just wanted to help.” Beth rolls her eyes. She refocuses on the window; the ascending moon grabbing her attention.

Daryl lies still and feels the pull of sleep nagging deeply at his body. Yet his mind won’t be silenced, there’s so many things to worry about for tomorrow. And every day after that. 

He sighs in annoyance. It's like his body got used to ignoring sleep. “Why don’chu sing somethin,” he decides. “To distract me.”

**_Play some more, keep singing..._ **

Beth is startled. Last time he asked that was in the funeral home. When everything was moonlight candles and hope for a new start - for good people to find them. Now it’s just them.

“Any requests?” she asks.

“Nope.” Daryl closes his eyes again.

She often contemplates what Daryl would have enjoyed before the world ended.

What were his tastes in clothes, music, books, or friends? She figures a lot of that identity would have either been tied up in Merle, or his own secret indulgences that he kept to himself. Or maybe he didn’t care about any of it to begin with, maybe he’s always just been surviving.

She chooses a Johnny Cash song that Otis would often play on the guitar. Because she can picture a younger Daryl listening to it on some broken down radio, enjoying background noise to the usual eeriness of his lonely home.

Her voice carries on softly as Daryl starts to drift away, as if it was a lullaby instead of simply trying to stay quiet enough so nothing from the outside will notice.

So that nobody hears except for one specific person.

_“It's all over, it's all over, my heart echoed._

_Every minute that you cry for her is wasted don't you know_. 

 _It's all over, it's all over, so forget her_.  _Stop your cryin' turn around and let her go.”_                                                                                                             

* * *

 

Beth blinks slowly as her sight adjusts to the bright morning light.

“Look who’s up,” Daryl’s voice is nearby.

She lifts her head to see him sitting in the corner, fiddling with their supplies.

“I did take first watch,” she justifies with a yawn.

“Didn’t hav’ta,” he retorts.

“Well I did.” Beth sits fully up. “Can we eat?”

She rises from bed, keen to go sit down at the table like a civilized person for once.

“Should put yer shoes on.” He motions to her feet. 

And then he’s out the door.

“Hm,” she muses. Well good morning to you too.

Beth slips on her sneakers while stumbling out the door, quickly tying the laces intermittently as she paces toward the kitchen. She hasn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.

“Almost there,” she smiles, while dragging her chair out.

“I seen walkers move faster than that.”

Beth primly lifts her head a little higher. “Ain’t my fault you’re so well acquainted with walkers.”

He cracks a smile as he produces a jar of peanut butter and overcooked squirrel from their bag. When was the last time he had the last word? Eating in silence never lasts long either.

“Wonder how far we are from the prison?” Beth ponders, looking out the kitchen window.

“Long ways now."

“Think we’ll just keep circling ‘round Georgia?”

“D’pends,” he answers. Gazing up at her with a bit of apprehension. Where is she going with this?

“Wonder what direction the rest of ‘em are headed,” she wonders, in a distant voice. 

She turns her vision back on his face, searching for something there. Curious how far he'll let her cross hidden roads.

“What area did ya grow up in anyways?” Beth gets around to what she was curious about.

“This one of your games?” he asks, pointing towards her suspiciously.

“No, c’mon tell me.” She pumps her foot against his knee. Leaning it there.

“Hm,” Daryl gives in. “Up north, Morganton.”

“Far from me.”

It was very distant from the farmlands she had lived among. And rough. For it was northern Georgia – mountainous and wild.  _Kind of like Daryl,_ Beth inwardly thinks.

“What school district were you sent to?”

“Hardly would call it a school,” he recollects.

“No building? No teachers?” Beth jokingly smiles.

“Nah, was barely four walls and a buncha idiots,” says Daryl. “Didn't graduate."

He looks up at her again, gauging if she seems surprised or not. Either reaction could be offensive, but Beth keeps her face indifferent.

“Were the kids mean?” she asked. 

Of course they were. It wasn’t like they were much better off than Daryl’s family, but most kids at least came to school with a meal. Daryl remembers sitting in a muggy room during lunchtime with one cheap ass fan blowing hot air around them. His eyes unsure of where to land when surrounded by the loud kids that were so opposite from the solitary forest that he practically lived in. Didn't have much to say either. The only person he ever really talked to was his dad, or if Merle's home but he hardly was now. So when the elderly teacher lightly touched his shoulder he didn’t know how to answer their meddling questions - it's not like they lasted long anyway. 

However, he only shrugs. “I guess. What kids ain’t?”

Beth makes a humming noise that doesn’t quite sound like an agreement. Of course, she always has something to say on the subject of ‘goodness.’

He can’t fully understand why it doesn’t bother him as much as it should - her perception on life. Until these following years, hadn't her previous life been picturesque? He should be stopping himself from cynically laughing at what an idealist she is, because Daryl knew (or _had_ known) that there's so much worse out there than good. 

But for whatever reason, a flash of her singing at the piano momentarily unearths his condemnation, like a weed torn from a garden. 

**_And we’ll be good._**

“Judy,” she warmly starts. “She’s gonna be a _good_ kid.”

Daryl watches those wide blue eyes as they do that far, far, far away look. Leaving him all alone, _here_ , as she sifts through far away thoughts. To a better place. He can't help but feel a little jealous. 

Sometimes he catches her writing in that stupid little book, mouthing the names of loved ones. Or when she soundly slept, there were whispers of “ _Judy_ ” or " _M_ _aggie_ " in her drowsy voice. But it’s been happening less frequently. Lately, Beth is starting to sleep like a rock – Daryl doesn’t really know if that’s a good thing. Hopefully it just means she’s not as burdened as before.

“Think about it,” Beth states, as she comes back to the present. “She’s the generation of this new world. So she’ll be different than everyone else, and I dunno, somehow that just makes me think she’ll be better. Like she’ll be _good_ but tough. She’ll never have to miss how things once were.”

Beth knows that’s her fatal flaw. Nostalgia. Longing.

She remembers the fog of that drunken moonshine night, telling Daryl, _“I wish I could just change._ ” But Judy won’t have to. She'll never have to change. And the deep maternal love within Beth swells at the idea of that child surviving and beating this world, yet still being good through it all.

Daryl had never thought of it like that. Little ass kicker was just a baby. However, he suddenly realizes that this girl is right. Because the apocalypse inhales everyone and then spits out the remains. Whatever those remains were – spoiled or salvageable - it’s the life they were required to navigate. But new life, like babies, is a whole other world. Born after the entrance of this plague. How can they be anything but a pure hope for the future?

**_I thought Maggie and Glenn would have a baby.._**

Daryl’s throat tightens at the pain surrounding their obvious loss of life – knowing everyone they loved had been scattered in smoke and blood. Gone in some way shape or form. Vanished or killed. So why didn’t Daryl feel like all wasn’t completely lost yet? 

Beth picks up the peanut butter and gestures towards him. “Want some?” 

He can see that the answer was dangerously close.

When she passes the jar, her fingers move against his own. Her palm lingering on the surface of his hand. “What do we think?” she asks. “Can we stay here for today?”

“S’far, s’good,” Daryl allows.

Her expanse of her hand is small but overwhelming. Fire against his - burning all the way to his throat.

Warm. Too warm for him.

“Gonna check the perimeter real quick,” he croaks. “Stay here.”

Beth watches as he slinks out the door and it oddly feels like she’s been stood up. 

And he leaves the peanut butter untouched.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Daryl further examined the area and it looked relatively suitable. There weren’t enough trees to cover them, but the rich ground suggested water nearby. They could use that advantage for a day or two.

As he breathes in the fresh air, Daryl realizes he’s wasting time out here. But he needs to waste time - because everyday there’s expectation written on Beth’s face. A look of implication or curiosity.

He knows _‘what’s next?_ ’ is always on her mind. But he never promised more. He told her in the beginning that he wasn’t _right_. Not for her. Except it’s difficult when he knows some things have _changed_ and can't be unchanged. 

It's so exhausting - the tiresome guilt and confusion. Even though he’s already been over it a hundred times – he can't believe they moved in this direction. He can picture Maggie's disappointed face. And what would he have told Rick? Daryl feels sick at the thought. 

Yet, now it tragically seems too late. She’s another universe at his side. He can’t escape if he tried, the black hole sucking him into an unknown galaxy. A better world by the looks of it. But one he has no clue how to breathe in, or if there's even any air for him to hold at all.

Daryl supposes he’ll just keep waiting her out. Because hell if he had the answers.  

Suddenly, he hears the back door swing closed and he swivels quickly around. But it's only Beth. He startles slightly at the sight of the damn girl appearing like a ghost out of a bad dream. She had impeccable timing. 

“Thought I said to stay put?”

**_I told you to stay back._ **

“I wanted make sure you’re a’right.”

**_Yeah but Daryl you said there was a dog._ **

He regards her for a second, the irritation at her carelessness draining away against his better judgment. Really, he should really lay into her, because he didn’t say it was safe yet. It was his job to check if the coast was clear. A job that was to be taken seriously above all else. She is becoming a dangerous soft spot. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just,” Beth starts. “This whole thing is weirdin’ you out, isn’t it?”

Daryl keeps his face impartial with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I mean you and me…” she trails off.

“Figured that,” Daryl huffs indignantly. He’s not an idiot, of course that’s what she meant.

“I’m not askin’ for anything in particular,” Beth points out. “I just want us to be comfortable with one another.”

“Havin’ to tell us to be ‘comfortable’ kinda defeats the purpose, don’t it?”

“What are you tryin’ to say?” she asks.

Daryl hates those questions. The open-ended ones that leave little for him to hide behind.

“Nothin,” he shakes his head.

“Didn’t say it would be easy,” Beth reminds him.

“Hm.”

Seeing his lack of enthusiasm was disappointing, but not surprising. She always had to drag everything out of him.

Beth knows that ever since she killed the man in the store, Daryl put his guard up all over again. It shook him.

He had finally warmed up a bit, after leaving the cabin, and now they were set back a couple paces. She wasn’t going to pounce on him, or reprimand him like a hammer on a nail. She should give him some time to adjust, but Beth couldn’t help but feel like he was slipping through her fingers.

So she cautiously approaches the man in front of her while Daryl follows her movements, like a cat, as he calculated her motives. Would this be like last time?

But Beth only reaches for his arms and pulls him into a hug. Her head tucked below the crook of his neck. For a second, he stands rigidly confused. Then she feels him slightly reciprocate the gesture. Beth can imagine what his face must be right now - eyes shifting around as he wonders how long they’re supposed to remain like this – if he’s doing the right thing.

She gives into the urge and backs up so she can see his face. It reminds Beth of the look he had when she hugged him at the prison, after he announced Zach's death. The same uncertain expression. Always apprehensive. 

“I need a reason to hug you?” Beth knowingly responds. 

From her brazen explanation, Daryl can feel the heat rising in his face. How is he supposed to compete with this? It’s so out of his depth, to the point of absolute terror. The little details that he doesn’t know how to assimilate to are much more overwhelming than the bigger moments. Even more awkward than the kiss – the aftermath is always messier than the actual events. 

“A’right.” Daryl turns away.

Getting their minds off topic seemed like a good idea. He points to the clearing that stoops away from the house.

“The ground is damp, looks like there’s a stream or somethin’ not too far off.”

“Really?” Beth practically swoons. “We could actually wash up.”

“If y’want.”

He was never one for complaining about dirt.

“Might find us a critter first.” He suddenly points at the trail.

“Can I?” she gestures to the crossbow.

Daryl is still surprised by the lack of possessiveness that came with sharing his bow.

“Can’t believe y’still wanna do this."

Even after catching her ankle in the bear trap, but that felt like years ago.  

“Of course,” she says with poise. “I’m gettin’ pretty good, right?”

_**Pretty soon I won't need you at all.** _

She is always eager to learn. To improve. Look what she's done for improvement in their little group of two - Daryl can't claim responsibity for their harmonious partnership. He was willing to miserably stare into fires and eat mud snakes for the rest of their days. She wasn't. 

Daryl scoffs in return, “Okay.”

And to be honest, bear traps aside, she actually wasn’t so bad with the weapon.

Daryl had never taught anyone how to use his crossbow. It was a strange sensation to watch your own words become knowledge in someone else’s head. Watching that knowledge become action. It was unreal. 

In fact, this whole 'thing' was unreal. Daryl wondered when the dream would end and the nightmarish world tumbling back in. It usually does. 

* * *

 

Beth followed the imprinted footsteps of a woodland creature; appraising broken branches, eaten leaves, scratches against the trees, any signs of territory. That’s what had led them to the burrow of a woodchuck.

Daryl motioned her to softly approach the hole in the ground, in order to leave berries scattered in front so that the wind blows them downcast. The anticipated creek laid adjacent to them as they waited behind logs of trees for camouflage.

She held the crossbow tight, his arm occasionally steadying the front so it didn’t wobble in her grasp.

Soon enough, a fat woodchuck lumbered out in search for the sweet smelling berries. Beth momentarily felt pity for the creature that had survived this long already, weren’t animals prey for walkers too? She processed the concept of another life being dead while she remained alive. There’s always someone next in line.  

And then Beth shoots the bolt, straight and true, fingers pressing hard on the trigger. Bearing the weight of the heavy crossbow herself. She can begin to cross hunting off the list of valuable skills that need to be learned.

Daryl once more demonstrated how to skin the animal. She dug into the body and started removing essential parts Daryl pointed to. Soon both of their hands had turned red and covered in patches of lost fur. Like so many times before - they matched.

“Think we should keep its hide?” Beth asks. Wanting to make the most out of this animal's life. 

Daryl shakes his head. “Takes too long to make a pelt.”

“Seems like a waste,” she mourns.

“We ain’t gonna eat it, and worthless to use when we got rags ‘stead, throw it into the fire.”

They were always careful when taking care of remains. Anything bloody was buried or tossed into their campfire. It finally seemed like they had regained a sense of civility after months of chaos. Perhaps this their potential life now? Bunking from place to place. Until maybe a permanent location.. 

Beth turned from the heat of the flames and stared at the nearby stream that were stationed a few feet across. Ever since laying her eyes on it the water looked welcoming, as if it were asking her to join the small waves of the gentle current.

“I’m goinna wash up,” she says, while pointing to the downhill creek.

And she’s walking briskly away before he can answer.

“Keep yer eyes open,” he warns.

She had a funny habit of closing her eyes when she’s content. There’s still so many little, unconscious habits she must learn and unlearn.

It makes Daryl look back and forth between the task in his hand and the much more important matter a few feet in front of him. He can’t shake the unnerving feeling that she’ll be swooped up like a hawk on a rabbit, taken far away from where he can find her.  So he keeps a cautious eye open - on her movements behind the long length of weeds as she rinses her arms in a fluid motion.

Daryl suddenly examines his own hands; matted with dirt and blood. He rarely retains the desire to sanitize. As long as he’s careful about not getting any sickness, then it’s not a problem for him. But for some reason he now has the urge to be wiped clean. To be at the same level as his partner. It didn’t seem quite right if she was one way and he was the other.

Gazing back up, his stomach drops as he sees that Beth has removed her shirt and is currently splashing her shoulders.

Her blonde braid undone. 

Her hair and skin glow in the light, both pale in their coloring. As if she is a hidden nymph that has emerged from the water. A mysterious creature that didn't mean to get caught in sight.

Daryl quickly looks down - feeling shy - and then annoyed at feeling that way. It's not like they haven't had incidents of changing clothes around one another, or peeing in the same vicinity. It's just the farther this 'thing' goes... the weirder Daryl's insides feel. 

Forget it, he doesn’t need to wash anyhow. He wipes his hands on his pants. It’s good enough for him.

Eventually, she returns with damp hair and fresh skin. Dirt long gone and clearly revealing her pretty face. And Daryl is suddenly claustrophobic. The urge to run away and get some needed alone time is like a choke-hold and crushes his lungs. What’s he supposed to do when it’s impossible to leave her? They are constantly together with no breaks of air in between.

“It’s so nice being near water,” Beth says, as she sits down across from him.

“Mhm,” he grunts.

“We should look for some frogs later." 

Daryl shrugs indifferently. 

“But maybe it's gettin' too cold for 'em,” she contemplates.

When he doesn’t answer again she eyes him up and down. Sure he can be a quiet man, but this seems different.

“Hey…” 

“Gotta take a leak,” he interrupts.

And then he strides off to the surrounding trees. He doesn’t even go far before pulling down his zipper and relieving himself. Beth hears the trickling of piss hitting the withered leaves on the ground. 

 _Oh,_ she wonders. It reminds her of their drunken fight. 

Because it was exactly how Daryl acted the last time he’d been embarrassed, when he was made to feel lesser than. When she asked if he ever went to prison during that juvenile game. Beth had only meant it as an ice breaker, the unfamiliar haze of alcohol making her bold. And then in a corner, Daryl pissing like it's a show of anger, making the term ' _pissed_ off' come to life. But what has she done now? She wishes he would just talk it out; her frustration rising.

When he’s finished, Daryl returns to the fire where the woodchuck was roasting in the flames, still stubbornly ignoring her. He moves the stick and it _seems_ as though he’s about to take it off to check the meat.

It's not great timing on her behalf - she knows that. But she can’t help it, it was how she was raised. Does she have to abandon everything she had known? Just so Daryl wouldn't explode in her face? That's not how she sees the potential of their relationship - she's not afraid of him. 

Besides, she’s handled boys and men in this department; her brother Shawn, her daddy, men at the farm. _Maybe wash your hands first?_ She even remembers occasionally reminding Rick and Carl before they picked up baby Judith. Besides, if you have the opportunity in front of you, then why not? It’s not like she’s asking them to go out of their way to find precious water. She only did it when it was available.  

“Maybe y'should wash your hands,” Beth lightly suggests.

Daryl gaze bounces from the fire spit to her relaxed form. Like she’s not even a little intimidated by him anymore, like she can say whatever she wants without consequence.

 _Little brother y'sure has become one hell of a bitch,_ he can hear Merle’s condescending laugh.

“Maybe y’should mind yer own business,” he unkindly states.

But Beth knows him now – she doesn’t have to dissolve in the wake of his crotchety attitude.

“Pretty sure it is my business if I’m eatin’ that too, after you touched it with… pee hands and whatever else.”

“Whatever else, huh?” He angrily squints up at her.

“Stop,” she cautions. “I’m only thinking of our hygiene.”

“Well then feel free to tend the spit,” he snorts, removing himself once more.

But this time he stalks down to the creek – where he actually does rinse his hands. Scrubbing irritably as the ‘whatever else’ washes away.

He shakes them dry. However, instead of getting back up he sinks to the gravely pebbles that outline the edge of the creek. Absentmindedly throwing rocks across the expansive water. 

Daryl has been accustomed to identifiable anger all his life. But he cannot entirely understand why he's so cagey today. Because this is the luckiest they had been for over two weeks. They were fed, they obtained fresh water to boil, they've been avoiding danger along the way.

Maybe that’s why he’s irritated as a shaken bottle about to burst. Now that they have time to be human, he feels it full force. Along with all the worst parts of being human. Confusion – followed by anger at the source of said confusion.

For the first time in years, Daryl doesn’t know what he exactly wants.

When he found a sense of family at the prison, a sense of purpose, he didn’t think it would get any better than that. Now every hour of every day with Beth is running in the extremes; the highest degrees of diverse emotions. Fluctuating from deep rooted anger when he confronts unexpected ghosts of his past, to pleasure at their weirdly functional partnership, or the way he considers the thought-provoking-questions she asks that no one else ever did.

Hours ago her eyes gleamed when she shot the crossbow - her eager face demonstrating how she finally felt like she belonged. Daryl can remember that same awakened feeling as well, that he finally belonged somewhere in their group at the prison. Now, along side this one girl, his sense of belonging dips in and out like tiding waves, so secure when all is going well but crashing and sinking when he feels out of place.

But there’s no other place to be but beside her. She’s become his only home. And at that thought the contrasting emotions rush back in; he’s elated and frustrated all at once.

Because now he must deal with _this_ – not just the feelings but physical _attraction_. Of course he’s always liked the way she looked, who wouldn’t? Doe eyes and a sunshine face. But now everything changed to the tenth degree. Since they’ve kissed, uninvited images are appearing in his mind. Daryl didn’t want to entertain those invasive thoughts for so many reasons. Her youth, the guilt, the possible consequences of such actions. Hershel. Rick.

Things can only go so far. He’s been pushing it down; further and further down. 

But when imaginary images become reality, right in front of his view, it’s impossible to ignore. And then he remembers the feeling of lips against his own. Her limbs soft and warm beneath his grip.  _Ugh_. Daryl throws one more rock in a brutish manner, it plummets ungracefully to the bottom. _Whatever_.

Returning to their original seating, Beth has already portioned off the meat onto their respective sticks.

“Daryl,” she says, in a tone that compels focus into her too-blue eyes. “I know I care too much about stuff that doesn’t matter anymore. I’m workin’ on that, but is this really what's botherin’ you?” 

He carefully regards her for a moment. “Y’gotta talk about everythin’?”

She shrugs. “What else is there to do?”

“Hm.”

Is that the only reason she asks all these questions?

“Hey, _we’re_ okay right?” she probes, self-consciousness thick in her honey voice.

And remorse is colliding into him full force like a runaway train. Really, she’s too young. He needs to stop laying all of this onto her. It’s too heavy. Daryl can handle it himself – he can’t expect her to wash everything clean.

Not like dirty hands.

His eyes go soft, head bowing shamefully. “Yeah.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Daryl doesn’t like staying in one place too long. They’ve decided to leave the little bungalow – it was too in the open. Someone might scope them out soon. Dusk was setting, turning the sky into a deep and lazy blue.

“Maybe we should camp at the hill we crossed,” Beth points to the direction. “Might be harder for walkers to climb.”

Daryl nods his head approvingly. “Good idea Greene.”

He’s been determinedly quiet. For whatever reason she has no idea except that he must be doing some sort of penance. Beth wishes she could see inside that head of his, the corners he’s still hiding from her.

But suddenly, Daryl has gone still beside her.

Beth turns her head to the smell of burning, in the distance, the opposite side of the bungalow. There’s smoke in the air. Puffing above the distant trees. The fire must have been going on a while before it reached that level of height. Whatever it is, it’s obviously not good.

“Go,” Daryl urgently pushes her. “Run.”  

They grab their belongings and dash out of the clearing, to the direction they originally came from. Legs pumping and jumping over arching roots. After crossing the road, they entered the coverage of dense woodland, relief prematurely clouded Beth’s vision.

But instead Daryl grabbed her arm roughly, stopping her. “Walkers.” He takes out his knife.

And there they are. 

She sees them clearly now. A chunk of bodies, like a moving wall coming straight towards them. Bad luck never ends. Beth removes her own knife.

And before the extended hands, dead and broken, can reach them they’re moving quickly around the lethargic bodies. Knife into head. Or kicking fleshly legs out and stomping their heels into mushed brains. Beth counts the bodies in her head; one, two, three.. Daryl is ahead, of course, preventing the bulk from attacking her.

Before the remaining ones can be killed there is a sudden shot in the air.

Then there’s another gunshot blowing closely past them and hitting a walker instead, guts bursting everywhere in an eruption. _Who is that??_ Beth’s catapulted to the ground, but she quickly realizes it’s only Daryl pushing as they take shelter behind a fat tree.

Her heart slamming into her chest in an erratic manner. Hands clinging to the man beside her. How do they get out of this? It’s dark now. The moon hanging a spotlight gaze on the patch of forest in front of them.

Daryl leans a quick whisper into her ear, “I know where he is, gonna jump him. When I yell, run back to the bungalow. I won't be long.” He didn’t want to lose her in the dark forest.

But Beth shakes her head frantically – no way. She’s not leaving him.

**_I’m not going to leave you!_ **

But he’s already positioning himself for the attack. This is how it has to be. It’ll be easier for him to get the bastard as she runs in the distant. Who knows what else is out here? 

Daryl turns to the side, letting go of the clammy hand in his, slinking off into the night. Silent as a cat. There are gun shots whisking by in the nearby dirt. None of them sound like they’re making contact with a body. She holds her breath – _Daryl please be okay_. Please. Please. Please.

There’s crunching in the distance. 

Swift movement. Someone’s hitched breath.

“Go Beth!”

**_Go up the road, I'll meet you there!_ **

And she’s up, up, up. Listening to his command because he _trusted_ her to make it out. So she’s running fast and hard. She rounds the tree lines on the road. Beth fumbles with where to hide. Nowhere seems safe.

Suddenly – there’s a clicking noise above her. Twirling the to left, Beth can see that, even in this darkness, that there is a man standing a few feet away. 

He’s tall. His hands are raised. 

Oh no.

No. 

Was it the same man in the forest? The one Daryl said he’d take care of? But that couldn't possibly be, it hasn't been long enough, has it?

Her stomach becomes ice. There’s roaring glaciers colliding in her ears. Daryl.

“Don’t move,” the gravelly voice informs her.

He lifts the handgun higher. And circles towards her. “Come closer,” he commands.

But Beth’s feet are frozen to the ground. She wants to run. It’s all she wants to do.

The last time this happened she had figured a way out. Now it seems unbelievably impossible – with the night sky. And the unpleasant smoke getting heavier from the distance. With Daryl potentially hurt, maybe dead. With her ragged running breath.

She looks past the man and sees a vague outline of a black vehicle.

When she doesn’t move fast enough a lightening hand bolts forward – striking her face - gripping the roots of her hair and throwing her to the ground. Beth attempts to throw her heavy bag at him, maneuvering space to freedom. But he tackles her in a rapid jump and a scream escapes from her before his sleeve is smothering her mouth.

He’s wearing a blue police shirt. And his gun presses under her chin.

“Shh,” the shadow tries to calm her. “I just wanna talk.”

A small whine escapes her, fear like no other seeping into her body.

“You seen any other cops around? Woulda been 'while ago” he asks.  

There’s tears in her shaky voice. She wants to be sitting down with Daryl right now, watching the glow of the fire illuminate his outline in the dark. He’s handsome with his hair brushed out of the way, revealing his familiar face. Containing his perplexing intricacies that she is still trying to understand. She wants them all back.

“You did, didn’t you?”

Beth erratically moves her head - yes. Even in this moment she can’t lie. Terror eating away any lies.

The man laughs.

“So it was you and that redneck who killed 'em?” the stranger concludes.

She keeps her mouth tight.

“Gorman.” There’s bitterness in his voice. “He was a fucking idiot. He radioed us about you two y'know. Said he’d found a good deal – and then nothing - no answer after that.”

The pressure is deeper at her throat. 

“You folks fall for a lot of tricks, cause we’ve been looking for ya’ll. Think you can stay in any ol’ house and it belongs to you?”

Beth tries to breathe. Tries to think of a way out of this. 

“You fell for the walkers, fell for the smoke.”

His arms restrain hers even harder. His body weight fully crushing her own.

“But man, was Gorman right about you.”

And then Beth’s face is suddenly planted into the ground, suffocating her with his hand and dirt. He's holding down her limbs as if he's searching for something else at the same time. Small yelps creep from her throat, but she knows they’re not loud enough to mean anything.  

Beth holds still for a moment and then BAM – she jabs her one, free elbow backwards. Cracking against a nose. She can hear a painful groan and immediately springs up to flee, but his long arms pull her back.

Her arm twists to the side to gain leverage, but suddenly there’s a shooting pain in her wrist as the man twists it the wrong way. She screams loudly in his ear.

A blunt force rams against the side of her head causing an explosive agony - the man having used the gun to strike her forehead. Beth sees stars, not just the ones in the dark sky.

“You stupid bitch,” he growls, holding a bloody nose. “You’re gonna…’

There’s branches crackling loudly behind him. The awful man stops.

“O’Donnell?” he questions.

And as she gains some consciousness, the familiar whisk of a bolt is flying through the air. It only lasts a second but Beth’s heart leaps at the sound. 

It's a good noise. Then there’s a thud next to her – and she knows it’s over. Beth looks up and sees  _him_ there instead. She leans forward and hastily pulls up her pants that have been dragged down part way.

“Beth,” Daryl’s voice hitches. She’s never heard that octave of his voice before.

Coming into view, he leans down and grasps her shoulders.

“Are you hurt, are you..” he wildly rambles. His hands hovering over her bruised head.

“No,” her own voice unrecognizable. Hoarse with unshed screams and gritty with dirt. “I’m o..kay..”

She feels like she always has to be _okay_. But this was nothing close to _okay_. There's still buzzing in her ear. Her wrist throbbing, but her head hurts more. And then she spits out the offending dirt that was lodged into her mouth, wiping her lips. So much for being clean.

He continues to hold her between both of his hands - his shaking hands. Funny, those hands were so much sturdier this morning when they were practicing with the crossbow. 

 _Poor Daryl,_ she hazily considers; more a feeling than thought. And she really tries to stay awake, part of her so desperate to remain above sea level, but the dizzy ache in her head is getting heavier and she's sinking. 

“We.. let’s.. I mean,” she begins to slur.

And then her neck bends in unconsciousness.

“No, no c’mon Beth,” Daryl urges, shaking her shoulders harder.

But she’s not waking up.

“ _Shit_.”

Daryl looks around to make sure there’s no one else and checks the pockets of the dead man for keys. Once he’s found them, Beth is hoisted into his arms. They’re taking the car. Doesn’t matter if it’s noticeable. There’s nowhere else to hide, no way for them to run like this.

He loads Beth into the passenger seat, supporting her head as if she was an infant. That’s how she feels in his hands; fragile while he’s completely unsure of what to do. He would lay her into the roomy backseat, but he wants her close just in case he needs to grab her and run.

Daryl backs the car up, reversing and running over the body on the side of the road. Once reaching Beth’s fallen items he retrieves them and hauls the load into the back. For good measure he plows over that asshole one more time. Good riddance.

Speeding down the dusky road Daryl is searching for any signs of bad company – lights appearing behind him, another car closing in. But there’s nothing. No one. 

Only his ragged breath filling the car. Only soft puffs of air escaping the girl next to him.

“Beth,” he calls and calls and calls.  

* * *

 

Bright light invades her vision. Is the pounding in her head from the sun? She feels warm all over. 

Maybe she's dead? Is her dad here? _Dad_.

But then there’s wetness splashing her face, turning her cold. She opens stinging eyes and sees a blurry figure in front her. 

 _Beth_. 

Someone is persistently calling and she wants to answer. She doesn’t like the worry in their voice, it makes her want to reach out and smooth away the pain.

“Beth, c’mon _wake_ _up_.”

And it’s like unexpectedly waking up from a deep sleep, everything jumping alert. Deep inhales in and out. In and out.

“It’s okay, yer a’right girl.”

“Daryl?” she groggily asks.

“It’s me, I’m here. Go slow.”

And she does. Allowing herself to adjust. Focusing on the face so close, in front of hers, for a few minutes. She's so happy he's alive. 

"Y'good?" 

“Startin' to be. What happened?” she asks with more lucidity, sits up instead and squints at the pain. “Ow.”

Daryl supports her back as she does so. “Y’got hit.”

There's bandages on her head and her wrist. 

“Oh.”

“Weren’t _too_ bad, no gash just swellin' and bruisin',” he says, while re-examining her forehead, holding her chin lightly.  

“And I had to wrap up your wrist tight, it got twisted pretty good.”

Beth searches her memory and it’s spotty at best. She remembers frantically staggering to the road where she was planning to meet Daryl. She turned her head and there was a shadow behind her, a walker maybe?

“What hit me?” she asks for further clarification.

“A man.” There’s fire in Daryl’s gruff voice.

Beth feels a tightening in her stomach. Oh. She remembers now.

“How long was I out?”

“Most of the night, sometimes y'would open yer eyes and then shut ‘em close.”

Beth thought that was only her dreaming. Her fingers trace the outline of her injury.

“Don’t touch." He swats her hands away. “We’re lucky s’only a blow to the side, ‘stead of the front.”

“Yeah real lucky,” Beth tries to joke, smiling slowly now. 

“It ain’t funny.”

She looks back down after seeing the serious expression darken his face.

“I know,” she apologizes.

“What are you feelin’ _right_ now? Dizzy? A stomach ache?”

“I feel a'right all things considering. Just sore.” Beth palms the other side of her head. Ignoring the throb in her wrist. 

Now taking in her surroundings, she sees that they’re sitting in a sunny patch of grass. Trees circle around them. Daryl worriedly examining her. 

“Where are we anyway?” she asks.

“Passed this here grove, looked deserted ‘nough... Took his car.”

“Car?” Beth gasps. “You took it?”

She cannot believe she was riding in a car and had no idea.

“Hid it over yonder.” He waves in the distance. “We’ll use it for a’bit, ‘till ya get back on yer feet.”

“Should we find a place to hole up?”

“If somethin’ comes up maybe,” Daryl says, but he is unsure.

How can they trust this area when they walked right into a trap? He’d start looking for another place once they were far enough away. Then again, who’s to say there won’t be danger wherever they relocate? 

“Gonna have’ta take it easy, _real_ easy, we gotta make sure y'don’t have a concussion.”

But Daryl’s heart races at the knowledge that, if she does have a brain injury, there’s nothing they can do about it. Not in the long run.

“Aren’t you supposed to be askin’ me questions, like what year is it? How many figures am I holdin’ up?” Beth tries to joke again. 

She feels strangely giddy to even be alive. She'd rather be strangely giddy than crying her eyes out. Her unshed tears hidden behind a curtain, while the comic takes center stage instead. 

Although Daryl wants to shake some sense into her – something awful just almost happened. Nonetheless, he watches her relieved smile grow. Beth is alive. She’s in one piece (technically). And they aren’t separated.

He finally regards her sarcasm with his own. “Figured you were coherent ‘nough after actin’ so excited to see me.”

“Best thing I’ve seen all day," Beth affectionately declares.

Daryl’s looks away at her teasing, turning to check the distant forest for something that isn’t there.

“Dunno how long it’ll be clear here, might have'ta leave soon,” he thinks out loud.

“And go where?”

Their obvious predicament hung in the air. Beth felt guilty on behalf of their immobility. She was holding them back even further because of her injuries. What fun deja vu. 

“Ain’t no way to know for sure,” Daryl responds. “Figure it’ll be best to stick in the woods, try and travel at night to put some distance ‘tween us.”

From wherever those policeman came from. 

“So that.. man.. was with a bigger group?” she asks nervously. Humor on halt. Hating the idea of him. 

“From the same people who attacked the funeral home.”

"Yeah.. think he mentioned that," Beth dismally recalls. It seems whenever they’ve reached a few steps forward, they’re catapulted back a hundred more. But they’re here together. Safe for now. They need to live in the now.

Suddenly, Beth senses a pull at her southern manners, her Mama's voice in her ear.

“Daryl." She abruptly grabs his hand. “You saved my life.”

He nods his head in a jerky motion.

“Nobigdeal,” he murmurs out in one sentence.

“Y’know that it is,” she says sincerely.

Beth wishes she could hug him; for herself and him too. But he looks too jumpy to catch - like a frog about to escape into the watery depth of a pond.

“Nah,” he squeezes her hand back, and then drops it. “Almost didn’t make it.”

Daryl fidgets with the goatee on his face, his nervous habit. There is so much left to say, but it comes out all wrong.

“And your… y’would tell me if,” he attempts. “ _Shit_ what could’ave happened..”

He eyes her seriously.

She remembers what had nearly happened to Maggie as a hostage of the Governor. How somber her sister was in the days that followed. Yes, Beth feels shell shocked. But she’s not angry. Because the man is dead and she’s alive. She goes on and he doesn’t. It started and ended so quickly that she doesn’t exactly know what to feel about her ‘almost’ assault. If you can call that ugly shit ‘almost.’

But the worst part was the pressure against the ground and the heavy body on top of her. Caved in, trapped on both sides. Confined.

“I’m okay. Really.”

And she means it, she really does. Beth wishes she could laugh everything off. 

Her lip trembles. And she can easily imagine crawling beneath her childhood blankets, in her own bed, at the farm. She’d wait under there until the world stopped crumbling into pieces. Now she has no covers. She’s bare in the open field. And the ground feels just as rigid as it did last night.

But then Daryl’s hand encompasses hers.

And nothing is funny at all anymore. It's all real and now. And it's going to be okay. Beth is instantly warmer beneath his grip. His body temperature like a flame. No wonder the outdoors never seems to bother him, he’s a walking heater. 

Surprising even herself, she rolls onto her side and grips the bend of Daryl’s arm with her free hand. She nuzzles closer until her nose hits the leather jacket. And she doesn’t bother to open her eyes because Beth is afraid she’ll be meet his uncertain stare. She’d rather feel safe and warm for as long as she can – blissful like an idiot.

But when she finally gazes up at him, Daryl is staring straight ahead once again. He almost looks calm. Like this could be a natural and everyday scene. Their growing 'same old, same old.'

“What if we run into them again?” she worries out-loud.

“Nah we won’t.” He doesn't really know if thats completely true. 

“But what if they’re still lookin’ for us?”

“Don’t think so,” he says. “Made the guy talk, before...”

Before he killed him.

Beth looks closer at Daryl’s arms – it’s strange to think what arms are capable of. They were so gentle when he pointed to the tracks they were following. Finesse with ability when he shot the crossbow for their dinner. And now, while wrapped around his right limb, it was firm with reassurance. But they were unapologetic when slaying the man in the forest.

**_You're gonna be the last man standing.._ **

“Said he was the last of ‘em out here, was their job t’go lookin’ for people. But too many died in the area.”

“Oh.”

“Them two were only searchin’ for their missin'  _friend_ ,” Daryl hisses in obvious revulsion. "That's why they were out so far." 

“Wonder why they dress like cops,” she muses.

“Buncha assholes that’s why.”  

“Creepy,” Beth agrees.

Rain droplets begin to fall, growing into a misty shower. Beth sticks out her tongue to the incoming moisture, soothing her dry throat.

“Shouda known the house was another trap, there ain’t nothin' good left,” he bitterly states.

And it punctures Beth’s chest to hear him take back all he’s implied after the "change." She wants to change his mind all over again. Stand shining in the light as he realizes that, yes, he still has faith.

Beth inwardly makes it her mission to guard his heart from being turned into stone. Even though she has a strong feeling that he wouldn’t ever fully let that happen – isn’t that why he was looking for something good in the first place? Deep down, he must not want to give up.

“So they weren’t they good guys, but the real ones are out there _somewhere_ ,” Beth confidently concludes. “We just gotta go through a lotta ugly shit before we find them.”

“The pot at the end of the rainbow?” Daryl rolls his eyes.

“Yeah but less rainbow, more pot.” Beth smiles. She likes playing the role of the wayward partner in their duo, riling him to be the “good” one for a turn. To show him that goodness so evidently lies within him. And one day he’ll see it reflected somewhere else in this doomed world; like a mirror bouncing off her own mirror - even if hers is cracked a bit. 

A puff of air escapes Daryl upon hearing her absurdity. Overall, her brain must be doing okay if she’s still acting exactly the same. Relief is the sweetest medicine, soothing the worried lines imprinted onto his face.

“Glad yer feelin’ okay.” 

“Thanks to you,” she beams.

“Stop.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

It was hours later when Beth’s eyelids flutter open again. The sun is setting? But only a minute ago she was watching Daryl fiddle with his crossbow, as she asked pestering questions like, _“why a crossbow in the first place?”_ She recalls his salty response and then fading into darkness.

“Daryl?” she calls out.

She's sore and there's a pounding in her head. 

“Hey,” his voice comes from behind. “S’aright. You fell asleep.”

“But I’m not supposed to sleep, I could have a concussion,” she worries. She had stayed awake all day because of that.

“Don’t work yourself up, s’only a myth. It’s better to rest while ya can.”

“Oh,” she blinks. “What about you?”

“What ‘bout me?”

“When are you gonna sleep?” she asks. Beth feels like a broken record – haven’t they had this conversation multiple times already?

“Hm." He acts like he’s actually considering. “I’ll be fine.”

“Daryl,” she groans.

“I’ll sleep when we got time. Now get on up, we’re leavin’ and the walk will do ya good.”

They deposit their belongings and pile into the hidden car that Daryl had artfully kept from view, behind tall bushes.

Beth hasn’t been in a car in a very long time – and no last night didn't count. Though she’s frightened at the idea of being followed, attracting walkers, or essentially screwing themselves over by drawing too much attention to the car’s engine and speed, Beth can’t help but be excited as she sees the trees whisk quickly by.

She never left the prison on supply runs. Didn’t wander out on a horse or motorcycle, like Daryl or Michonne. No leaving in cars like Maggie or Glenn. 

While Maggie could drive stick, the only real practice Beth ever got was riding tractors on the farm and driving the pickup to church while her dad sat in the passenger seat. She only had her permit when the “sickness” hit. That’s what they it called during those times. Beth remembers actually being dismayed that she would be unable to take her driving test when their town started closing down – how _selfish_ she reprimanded herself.

She eyes Daryl appreciatively as she watches him steer the wheel beneath his calloused hand. Beth wants to be effortless like that, to feel like an in control driver.

The passenger seat was starting to feel a little too buckled in for her taste. Which is strange because before the attack on the prison, she was content on remaining in the shadows. It has been due to both her youth and personality; she wasn’t eager to jump into the unknown. Beth, previously, didn’t know if she could handle the nightmares that awaited beyond the walls.

But now after everything she’s seen and done and that's happened to her - from watching her dad’s execution, to killing a man, to entering scream battles with the most intimidating member of the group (after having singlehandedly getting him wasted too) - Beth could confidently say that, yes, she was ready for more change.

“So think you’ll ever let me drive?”

Daryl briefly turns his head in surprise. No, he’s not going to let her – not even when her wrist and head are better.

“Didn’chu used to say that we all got jobs to do?” he explains. “This one here is ma' job.”

She blinks in surprise. “Not even when I'm all healed up?”

“Some things r’too dangerous, if I’m well ‘nough to drive then it’s gonna be me.”

“We’ll see ‘bout that,” Beth proclaims, and then starts considering options. “We could start lookin’ again for them. Rick... Maggie.”

Open a wide search party while danger lies behind them and maybe even ahead? If he was alone then he’d certainly drive around looking for the members of their group, of course he’d cover more ground with a vehicle. And the idea of finding them is so tempting, so imaginable. Their happy, familiar faces that he knew so well. A never-ending sadness in his heart over the loss. 

But now? There’s no way. Not with Beth.

Daryl is prioritizing and she’s currently heading the list, because he’s already made a promise to not let this one light go out. 

“Nah, Beth.” He shakes his head. “We move when we hav’ta and hide durin’ the day, ‘till yer head’s healed. Then we’re ditchin’ this asshole’s car.”

* * *

 

And that’s exactly how it went on for the next two weeks or so. They’d travel when too many walkers invaded their area and when it felt safe enough to drive at night, or portions of the day. Then they’d find an isolated spot or cleared place to spend time – once it was a shed and another was a small abandoned warehouse. But mostly it was just them hiding in the forest.

It felt like they were runaway criminals concealed from civilization, trying to remain unnoticed by everything. 

They were covered in dirt and matted in sweat. There were no trips to springs or lakes, where other people might be interested in finding. They rationed water unlike any other time before. Beth hasn’t even bothered to untie her hair, leaving it caked in the ponytail.

However, food was steadily dying out and Daryl was forced to leave Beth to hunt. Even though these woods were disappointingly barren, having only producing a handful of squirrels. He'd give her the usual speech every time this happened; stay low and scream if you need me. She never did.

In fact, Beth was getting good at hiding.

She’d sink low to the ground and behind bushes. One time three walkers passed by their camp, clanging against the metal pieces strung up. Beth held her breath and molded herself into the earth. They passed by once the barrier proved to be too meddlesome. She didn’t even tell Daryl what happened, she could be brave all on her own.

 _Just like I could drive the car too_ , Beth inwardly thought. Hopefully one time before they ditch it.

Thankfully all of this slow-paced-living proved to be beneficial to her healing injuries.  

“Reckon it’ll be good as new in a day or two.”

Beth twirls her wrist happily, grateful it didn't break, and throws the stick she’d been poking their tiny fire with into the flames. 

“Sure thang lumpy,” Daryl says, pointing to the small bump on her head.

The swelling and bruising had mostly diminished. But he wanted to see the wound go completely away before they jump back into the swing of things.

“I’ve been called worse," she states, holding her head up high.

“Yah? Like what?” He rolls his eyes. Who would call _her_ any bad names?

_Dad, Merle…_

And other names from his past momentarily cloud his head. He winces at the ideas of what they would have indeed called her.

“Plenty of terrible things,” Beth good-naturedly assures him.

He can’t tell if she’s still trying to pull his leg.  

“Bet yer ass no one’s ever even cussed at you,” he huffs.

Beth laughs lightly, but doesn’t deny it.

And damn it, he’s already curious. He wishes he didn’t so overtly enjoy the small snippets she would share of her previous life. He likes comparing the differences of _Beth then_ and _Beth now_. It makes him feel more normal about his own transformations.

But also it makes him pleased when he identifies the moments that indicate how she really isn’t entirely different. Sometimes it seems like he’s accompanying an important artifact from ancient times – someone that’s irreplaceable in their new and broken world. But stronger too. 

“Sum'body cursed you out?” he asks, with sincerity this time.

Daryl slightly cringes at his tone of interest. He doesn’t know why – maybe it’s because he never liked gossip. But what else has he got to do anyway? This was the closest thing to reading or watching TV. Not that Daryl did much of that before, but _whatever_.

Beth side-eyes his change of attention, determining that he actually wants to hear the story.

“Two times,” she reveals. “And 'course this is aside from Maggie, cause blood don’t count.”

Her headstrong sister also had an interesting temper at times. Beth warmly remembers their fights followed by trips to get ice cream.

_Oh Maggie._

“Well?” Daryl decides to go ahead and badger.

“Once in 8th grade, I tried out for the chorus and got one of the solos even though a friend of mine really wanted it. She asked me not to, but I did anyway. She called me a backstabbing bitch and didn’t talk to me for months.” 

She can laugh at this silly thing now, even though she went home and cried when it happened.

“Ain’t nothin.” Daryl smirks too, while imagining this scenario. “Sore losers can start an argument in an empty house.”

“Yeah she could,” Beth says, thinking back. To meaningless relationships from a lifetime ago.

“And the other incident?” Sarcasm disguising his interest.

“Less amusin'," she huffs, with a roll of her eyes.

Daryl tightens his lips. He’s definitely not one to pry, even though he sort of wants to this time.  

“Just some stupid boy,” Beth begins. “Before I got with Jimmy, this kid I went to school with said I was the worst combination, a tease and a prude. He called me… you know…”

She trailed off, still conditioned even after all this time to avoid that word.

“Oh that,” he mumbles. “What a douche.” He forgot that every woman got caught under the umbrella of bigoted words, Beth included.

“Yeah,” she laughs again, and then remembers. “Oh and there was this one time a guy called me a dumb college bitch.”

Daryl blushes at the memory. “Like I said I’m a dick.”

“I was actin’ like one too,” Beth offered. “Anyway, what about you, anyone curse you out?”

“What d’you think?”      

“Well name one time,” she asks.

“Too many,” shrugs Daryl.

“How about one that bothered you the most?”

_“What?”_

“Y’heard me.”

“Think a lotta of yerself don’chu?” he says, with a furrow of his brow.

“C’mon.” Beth bumps his shoulder.

He’s about to tell her to mind her own business; it's too ridiculous of a question and he'd feel ridiculous answering it. But then again.. what else is there to do? And he technically did the same to her. Daryl has always been conscious on what’s fair or unfair.

“Guess you said blood don’t count, huh?” Daryl starts thinking, scratching the scruff on his face.

“I’ll allow it,” Beth diplomatically states.

“Why?”

“Just 'cause.” She smiles at him.

He stares at her knowing eyes. 

How is she so comfortably invasive? Daryl knew it was weird that it didn’t bother him (that much). But instead of the hundreds of stories stacked away about his fucked up family, an old memory suddenly comes to Daryl’s mind. It actually surprises him that he can even recall that moment.

**_We should burn it down.._ **

He looks down at Beth patiently waiting and it’s annoyingly easy to imagine her working in some compassionate working field if the world hadn’t ended – not that Daryl would have ever freely interacted with a therapist or teacher or social worker or whatever, but still it’s suits Beth. Although he’s willing to bet she would have thrown that all away if she could have been a singer; the girlish dream amusing him even now.

“While ago, after my dad died,” he starts. “I was figurin’ out where to go. Sick of that piece-a-shit house anyhow and bummed my way to a town, waitin’ for Merle to get off the train. He was outta the army - and  _jail -_ anyway the town was 'lot nicer than my ol’ neighborhood.”

He looks back over at her keen eyes.

“Reckon it was real obvious. Some uppity lady didn’t like my loiterin’ and yelled every nasty name y'can think of," he concludes, thinking back. "Made Merle laugh when he came in.”

“What a _bitch_ ,” Beth seethes.

And hearing that come from her mouth, especially after they were just complaining about people cursing at them, caused a feathered feeling from his stomach to his throat. And a throaty laugh was breaking free before he realized. 

Beth had watched the steadily growing lines of his smile tug upward, heard him scoff in jest, and saw him shake his head in what looked like amusement. Yet, she’s never heard actual _ongoing_ laughter from this man. What a strange thing to just realize. But she’s immediately joining in his laughter; contagious and light-hearted. It makes him sound years younger.

When their laughter decrescendos, the moment ending, Beth looks around at their dead-end camp. They’ve been here since yesterday afternoon and now the sun is starting to set. Where are they to go?

She absentmindedly touches her forehead.

“Don’t touch,” Daryl immediately reprimands.

“It’s annoyin',” she complains.

“Means it’s healin’.”

They had only an antiseptic bottle to clean out the wound, but it had done the trick. It had healed well. But now Beth looks around again at their lack of supplies - it was time to venture out of the woods and search for needed provisions. For water and a clean start. 

“Well I’m fine now, we should scavenge soon,” she states. “Cause we gotta start doing somethin’ else.”

Daryl shifts his gaze at hearing this proposal.

He knows they can’t go on much longer hiding like this. But fear he’s never experienced - until now - tightly grips his lungs, making his breath come out shaky. For the first time in his life, Daryl is unwilling to get up and move. He's always been accustomed to marching on in the face of disaster. But now? Now, it just seems like everything could blow up in seconds and he'd rather wait for the debris to land far away before rising from their hiding place.

He doesn't understand what's happening, is he starting to lose it? 

**_The signs are all there, just gotta know how to read them._ **

His vision goes back to Beth’s face, her endless stare spurring him to wake up from their unconscious state. 

“Guess we do.”

“So tomorrow then?” she asks. “We’ll start lookin' for real?”

He mumbles in unenthusiastic agreement.

“I’ll be okay. My head is fine now,” she reassures. But Beth is privately pleased by his worrying. It’s nice to have someone care. And that someone, being Daryl, is the most unexpected and wonderful thing to happen.

“Wasn’t too sure of it to _begin_ with,” he says, with a wry tone.

“You’re hilarious," she huffs. 

Beth leans back from the fire as the heat suddenly becomes too much.

 _So tomorrow then._ _Tomorrow we’ll start again._

 


	8. Chapter 8

Daryl knew the original plan was to ditch the car once Beth had healed. _Sure_ , that’s how it originally started when he had decided to take the vehicle, but the roll of wheels on the road was easier than pounding of feet against dirt. It could be dangerous using a car, but they decided to view it as a temporary vacation (cause Daryl never had one before.) Beth was treating it as a luxury, rolling down the window and letting wind blow their hair back.

The car allowed them easy access to finding abandoned buildings and stores with much needed supplies. Daryl had stuck to the back roads, curving against edges of forests. Despite whoever might notice them from the brush of the woods, they’re headed to a long abandoned shopping plaza.

Pulling into the sidelines off the road, where overgrown bushes have consumed the area, Daryl parks the car.

“A’right,” he begins, breaking the hour of unusual silence. They didn’t like what was about to happen, causing a rife in the atmosphere. “The shoppin’ center is just over tha’ corner.”

Beth cranes her head but can’t see anything but the diminished outline of the road. The unknown.

“I’m gonna be ‘n and out quick. Get what we need and run right back here,” he says with reassurance.

“Sure I shouldn’t come?” She scowls.

But it was _still_ too soon after their previous attack; it made him feel too uneasy. Besides this should be an in-and-out mission. It would be easier with one person.

“Nah not this time. Best you sit tight." He nudges her and nods his head. “Keep the keys close.

Beth hums in frustration. 

“And don’t drive,” he cautions. “Kay? 'Less somethin’ is killin’ you.”

He opens the door, gathering his crossbow and the bags they had emptied in order to fill with new goods. Beth slips into the driver seat and hands him the gas gallon that had originally been left in the trunk.

Ducking his head to meet her gaze, Daryl has no idea what to say. This will be the farthest he’s been away from her. Her eyes shining with doubt.

“So,” he begins.

“Don’t say goodbye,” she interjects. “Just come back.”

And he’s thankful because this was never his strong suit. Saying goodbye didn’t quite sound right.

_**I'm glad I didn't say goodbye. I hate goodbyes.** _

“I’ll come back.”  _To you,_ sits on the tip of his tongue.

Daryl blinks against the bizarre image that comes with this farewell. Why is this so hard? The mission had to be done. And he knows how to do the difficult tasks. _That_ is his strong suit. He was always talented at pushing past the emotional stakes, with his head down, in order to complete the mission. But this feels terrible. In fact it hurts.

“You better,” Beth threatens.

And then she grins.

Layers of smiles – she owns a ton of them. Despite everything that’s happened to her. With a different smile for every different feeling or response. He tried to keep count of which ones mean what, sometimes Daryl thinks he has it down by now. Like when he told her where they were headed and that she couldn’t come - no if and’s or but’s - Beth pursed her lips, shrugged, and smirked in what looked like irritation. 

Daryl’s pretty sure he has one level of what some may call a smile. Lately, he’s been having to bite his lips from stopping its automatic response.

“Stay put,” he grounds out, and starts turning around.

But there’s a sudden pull at his sleeve, tugging him far downward, toward the window. Leaning at this awkward angle, Daryl meets her eye line and sees what she wants. His heart beating strangely.

With the window rolled down, Beth leans out and raises her lips to his own. She tightly grips the bend of his elbow and Daryl feels himself return the kiss. It’s too inviting to do anything else but go up and down alongside her lips. Her mouth warm. And quick paced as she attempts to convey everything they’ve been avoiding these past weeks. Their first kiss since that day in the forest. When things got too far.

She pulls back and Daryl mourns the loss of the contact. More than he expected. More than he realized he craved.

“Okay you can go.” Beth turns away from him. An equally strange feeling filling her belly.

And this time he doesn’t look back because, Daryl can admit that if he did, he’d never leave in the first place.

* * *

 

Despite the heaviness of the kiss, Beth sort of feels like she’s twelve years old. Like when her dad and mom left her in the car to run errands and gave her the speech – keep the doors locked and don’t open them for anyone. As if anyone in their small town would be cause for fear. She could practically picture the tumbleweed blowing past her.

Of course, _now_ , nothing is boring. Every minute is on high alert. But she still feels like a kid being left behind. She’s _changed_ since the prison. She should be with Daryl right now. Even if she was a little banged up. It's not like they have luxury to avoid undesirable situations anymore.

An hour goes by. 

Beth leans low in the car with the key in the ignition; just in case. The system she had created - of checking the side mirrors, windows, and the backseat - is starting to get jumbled as she simply stares ahead in anticipation for Daryl’s appearance. He didn’t say how long to wait before she should start worrying. But Beth guesses Daryl would never tell anyone to worry about him. She wishes he would though, it’s part of her job.

The wind blows against the window. And it’s beginning to grow cold in the stillness. A shiver crawls up her spine which she tries to ignore. It’s time to find a heavier sweater or jacket. She should have told Daryl. Beth smiles at the idea of him cluelessly rummaging through the women's clothes section.

A howl is shaking through the creaks of the door. She checks the mirrors one more time, but all she can see is prickly bushes. Yet, the eerie stillness has disappeared. Beth doesn’t feel alone anymore.

The strange sense in her gut is leading her outside, quietly opening the door and creeping past the bushes to look. Beth had promised to stay in the car, but she needs to check.

And there they were.

Dozens and dozens of walkers.

A herd of them slowly but surely moving in the direction of the shopping plaza. Perfect timing as usual. Beth scrambles back to the vehicle.

She could sink low in the car. She could flee farther into the forest and wait them out. She had become an expert at hiding. But what about Daryl? Would he be walking up and have to run in the opposite direction of her? There was a crowd. What if they cause some blockage and then she was separated from Daryl?

She doesn’t understand how big herds assemble; doesn’t it often happen due to someone else’s actions? Or is she just being paranoid from previous experiences? Beth didn't want to risk it. 

So she turns the keys in the ignition, roaring the car to life. Too late to change her mind now, Beth speeds onto the road. Foot secure on the pedal and eyes focused in front of her. The wheel tight in her hands. She glances at the walkers in the distance growing smaller and smaller; like an angry mob in the background.

In place of the fear and concern for the situation, Beth cheerily realizes - she’s driving! Offhandedly, she remembers Glenn's proud story about cruising in that red mustang, when the group was only outside of Atlanta. This is just as good, just as exhilarating. Even if she can’t name the car type or year or anything like that. Honestly, who cares? She’s _driving_.

Turning corners leads her straight to four-way-street, ignoring the hanging traffic light that unnervingly stares at her as she blows pass a stop sign. Across from the plaza is a gas station, where she sees a darkly dressed figure staring at her as they drop their bag.

Daryl.

She zooms toward him and pulls into the parking lot. Looking through the window, Beth watches Daryl gather their items and rush toward her. His facial expression contorted in frustration.

Opening the door, he immediately yells at her. “The hell y'doin’?”

“A herd,” Beth gasps. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath. “They’re comin’ this way now.”

Daryl squints passed the car to where she just came from.

“I made a decision, so let’s live with that and go!” 

“Pull up,” he grunts. “I’ll fill ‘er up first.”

As they drain the gasoline into the car, Beth cranes her neck to search for the looming crowd that she knows will be coming soon.

“Get out,” Daryl calls from side. “Quick.” 

He wants to drive.

“I can do it,” she asserts.  

“Beth,” he shouts. “ _Now_.”

She looks down and for some reason there’s stinging in her eyes. So this is what gets to her now? Not old boyfriends being ripped into pieces, not the prison crashing and burning, but this? Daryl’s doubt in her abilities. The doubt in herself, because of course that’s what it truly is. She just wants another job to do. She wants to change.

**_I wish I could just change._ **

**You did.**

_Did I?_ Beth wonders. 

As he hurriedly approaches and moves to the door handle, Daryl suddenly assesses the lost expression on her face. Her bowed head with loose hands on the wheel, when a minute ago she was so sure of herself. Yet, in this quick time frame of decision making, he realizes well enough that this can be a major moment in her life. A burning the cabin down moment. One that he's about to ruin because he's treating her like their group used to at the prison. 

“ _Shit,_ unlock the door,” Daryl demands, as he jogs to the passenger seat.

Anyway.. he was never one to shoot down a learning lesson.       

“Left or right?” Beth asks for confirmation. Joy and nervousness both evident in her voice.

“Turn outta here, walkers will prolly keep goin’ straight.” He points.

Daryl looks behind them and all over. Checking their sidelines for any danger. There are straggler bodies in the distance. The first of the herd rounding the corner from whence they came.

So they travel dead ahead. Beth drives onward. 

* * *

 

Once again hiding the car off the side of the road, they dash farther into the forest. They’ve most definitely outrun the herd, but now they are in another unknown place and need to conceal themselves before exploring the area. 

Daryl and Beth end up sprawled in a concealed thicket; musky green and brown all around them. Laying down in the bedded floor of the forest felt natural to Daryl. Hiding like rabbits within the brush and cluster of low hanging branches. Wild things lost in the woods. Him and her. Leaves of one tree.

Though the herd wasn’t too worrisome in its numbers, it would be better to plan where they were headed instead of picking a random direction.

 _Ain’t running with our tails between our legs,_ Daryl inwardly thought. Not every time at least.

Beth gazed back up at Daryl, who in return signaled for her to wait. So her head sinks back down. He gets like this sometimes – even when danger is gone he’ll wait ample time before they venture out again. Might as well get a little comfortable, Beth shuts her eyes.

While Daryl keeps his crossbow lined up against his chest, slightly turned to peer through the openings of the shrubs. But nothing is there. His senses drop into ease as they detect no disturbances in the surrounding area.

After an hour (or so it seemed), Daryl feels his eye lids had drooped. The soothing in-between of sleep and consciousness. He didn’t get much shut eye last night. His brain enjoys the rest and unperturbed silence - right before a gust of wind knocks against the thicket and Daryl is hurriedly sitting up, ears straining to make sure that’s all the noise is coming from.

Beth's own eyes spring open, taking in his tense form.

She wishes he could relax for a moment. For his own sake. He’s probably gotten 10 years off his life because of stress. Meanwhile, she knows her lifespan must be even less secure. There’s no telling how much of her remaining hours have been chipped away.

**_I know you look at me and see another dead girl._ **

She knows he doesn’t look at her as a dead girl anymore. Feels it when his gaze lingers a little too long. His face scrunched up in confused fascination as he listens to what antics she’s cooked up now. Sometimes he looks not just scared for her - but scared of her. 

He doesn’t want to be the last man standing. He refuses to see her as another dead girl. Except that might not change the fact that, she is. Or one day will be. 

But wont they all, anyway?

Beth decides to scrap these dark thoughts for now. Instead, she focuses on the outline of the man sitting in front of her.

She wants to laugh at how familiar he’s become; different than the years she had known him within their farm and prison group – when he was a neighbor cloaked in mystery. Brash but solitary at the same time. However, her own shyness detector had sensed out his bashfulness as well. That had always made her give him an extra smile in passing while at the prison, just in case he needed affirmation. His eyes would dart away. 

Now that image has crumbled away to reveal flesh and blood. A man with worries and qualms. Fear of failing at something he’s finally found. Angry and hurt at the past, as well as the present. The more you have, the more there is too lose - Daryl had never known that before.

But she can tell he’s healing too. Every passing day she feels him reign in closer to her. He watches Beth steadily, as if she’s the last person on Earth (she is to him). His last chance to prove that he can still do _this_ , that all is not yet lost.

Their humanity tied together on a string.

Beth doesn’t want to let him down. Just like he doesn’t want to let her down.

Daryl often cringes at what she must have originally thought when realizing she was stuck with him. Sure, he can hunt and kill walkers but what else was there to offer this girl? Neither of them know how to vocalize their fear of one another, the feelings of shamefulness. Unworthiness.

Instead, Beth sighs as she braces for another day. Sits up from her position on the ground and is practically face-to-face sitting beside Daryl. He regards her movements closely as he always does; almost like checking her over to make sure she’s actually there.

But suddenly a quick movement flits up his forearm, and Beth is smacking him repeatedly.

“ _Hey_ ,” Daryl says. Bracing himself against her flailing.

“There was a huge centipede!” Beth explains as she brushes off the, now, nonexistent creature from his arm. 

“Yah, and?”

“Well aren't you the tough guy,” she teases, in a sing song voice.

“Hm."

It was getting hard not to smile at her often outlandishly human moments. Still concerned about bugs when yesterday she decapitated a walker’s head with the swing of her knife. Daryl shakes his head in composed, inner amusement. He can imagine Beth in her past life - screaming for someone to come and kill the spider in her bedroom, quick before it gets away.

“Should thank me, I think that one had a gun.” Beth smiles at her bad joke.

“Go a’ head and man the insects Greene, I’ll be watchin’ for less important dangers,” he sarcastically states.

“Not a problem,” she retorts. “As long as it’s not centipedes.”

Beth gazes around their surroundings. It did look a little buggy now that she is taking a closer look. Though the chill of fall had announced its inevitable arrival in the nippy air, there were still tiny bugs enjoying their last hurrah before the real cold set in.

She’s never liked bugs, but she’d gotten used to them while living on a farm. The flies that buzzed around her horse. Picking off ticks in the summer. Leaches she pulled off Maggie and other silly friends after swimming in the creek. But no, sir, she didn't want to tolerate crawly things like centipedes or spiders. She was semi-serious when she had told Daryl to thank her.

Daryl closes his eyes for another moment, clearing his head. She’s assuming he’s trusting her to remain on watch while he readies himself. Instead, she takes turns examining the thicket and examining him. He looks younger when his face sits peacefully.

Beth sees a smudge of new dirt on his cheek that must have brushed onto him when they scrambled passed the bushes.

So she reaches out to her companion’s face. Tenderly wiping off only a portion of mud before Daryl’s eyes pop open and he’s bucking his head backwards.

“Oh sorry, I was just getting that for you,” Beth feels the need to explain.

But it makes him think of how warm her hands were when they kissed earlier. And her lips soft and even warmer. But they don’t have time for _that_ right now – distractions get you killed out here. Since she’s pulled away it’s now safe to roll his eyes at her fussing.

“Kay,” his voice is gruff. And he leaves the remaining dirt on his face like a show of defiance. 

Her eyes narrow in return.

Beth is scooping up a palm of dirt from below and swiftly wiping it onto the cheek she had tried to clean for him.

“You’re right, that was rude of me. Let me just give that back.”

She holds in a huge smile while watching his body remain still after processing what just happened.

Daryl’s gaze lands on her sunshine face and the good humor twinkling in her expression. Sometimes it hurts to look at her when he sees how deeply decent she is; to the core of her very being.

Because she’s the most human thing he’s ever known. All the best or most interesting parts of humanity anyway; kind, nurturing, raw and vulnerable, self-conscious yet anxious to learn more. Open. And flawed. She moves like a jagged river never fully predictable. She’s the one throwing him through hoops every day.

Seems to be the complete opposite of his flaws – all of his are concealed in dark corners which lash out whenever any possible sunlight loomed over. Lately though (more often than he wants to admit) it feels warm instead of blaring, blinding, brightness. Now gentle light is poking in on everything he thought would remain locked away in the night. 

“Y’for real?” he dryly asks. Wiping off the dirt that now feels so apparent on his face.

Beth answers with a tinkling laugh.

Exactly when did she get _so_ comfortable giving him shit? It makes a strange sensation bubble inside his throat. He never knows what to do with that feeling, so usually he makes up for the tense energy with another retort.

This time he grabs her ankle, giving it a strong tug, and she’s slipping down the ground on her bottom. “Daryl,” she scolds.

But he’s already gliding out of the thicket and glancing around. 

Daryl points to signs along the dirt floor and Beth knows this one; lack of broken branches indicates a safer passage. They walk along the path in companionable silence. Two-of-a-kind creatures. The last of their _kind_. The trees become more condensed the farther they walk. Beth hops over roots and grabby branches. 

Settling down for a break, she sits on a curved rock.

“Oh,” Daryl starts, as if he is suddenly remembering. “Here, this shit is for you.” Throwing her the duffle bag.

Inside holds the unexpected, because he really did go shopping for her. There’s a warm cardigan, a shirt that _actually_ looks like it fits, grey cargo pants, socks, and even hiking shoes. Beth’s eyebrows shoot up at the real-life image of him picking out these things. Hopefully he just grabbed whatever looked right.

“So that’s what was takin' so long,” Beth teases. “Couldn’t find what you liked?” 

“Thought a fresh start might be nice." He motions to her tattered clothes. "Sorry if it don't fit right." 

“What about you?” She glances over at his dark ensemble. And realizes that his only new article of clothing were his pants. Rolling her eyes, she hopes that he at least grabbed some new socks. 

“I’m good.”

She eyes him again, a playful glint in her expression. “You do look good.” Beth nods in approval.

His hooded eyes flicker over her in surliness. “Shut up.”

"I'm only stating the truth,” she says, with a smile.

“Truth is you’re a lunatic.”

Beth laughs at his dismissal.

“Come sit." She pats the area next her. “We’ll eat.”

He approaches and sees her smile full force. When she smiles like that it’s impossible to regret anything – least of all her.

 


	9. Chapter 9

“No, no, _no_.”

Someone is roughly shaking her shoulders. She fights the force with all that she can.

“Beth,” the voice calls. “Wake up.”

“Wha… what?” she freezes.

“Yer dreamin’ wake up,” Daryl urges.

“Oh.” 

Beth leans up from her nest on the car seat. They had decided to spend the night in the refuge of the car, rather than the cold ground. They mix up their nights like that. 

She touches her cheeks and is startled to find wetness dripping down them.

“Nightmare?” he knowingly asks.

Beth thinks back to the lonely reverie where a shadow was about to devour her. Although she couldn’t see anything – she could _feel_ it. This was her first nightmare in a long time. 

She hugs herself tightly. “Well I’m awake now.”

He watches her with unease – Beth can tell he doesn’t know how to fix this. Daryl has no experience soothing away bad dreams. So instead he gives her space to collect her thoughts.

She just wishes that she didn’t feel so helpless sometimes. In her nightmares and in real life.

Any time she gains upper ground, she’s knocked back on her ass once more. She remembers bony walker fingers, crawling with centipedes and slippery flesh. Or a man’s harsh grip as he holds her down – that was the worst of all the nightmares.  

“Fightin’ people is harder than walkers,” Beth eventually surmises. “Right?”

Daryl nods. In certain aspects, some people are worse than walkers in general.  

“Y’learn to fight from Merle?”

He had learned from all over. From every experience in his life. Merle had sparred with him in jest and in some serious ass-kicking, but at least it taught Daryl how to move in the future. With his Dad - it was just blows upon blows and no end in sight - he only learned to duck.

“Some from Merle,” he responds. “And ‘lot from bein’ a dumbass.”

“Can you teach me?” she hesitatingly asks. It’s another thing she’s requesting from him, accompanying a long list already. 

“We learned to shoot and fight walkers, but they never taught me how to fight people.”

Beth guesses that that their group never thought she'd have to.

“Yah, I can do that,” he promises.

They stare at one another in agreement, but that soon melts away into cloudy tension. The intimate space of the car keeping them close. Hadn’t they kissed basically in this very car? Daryl clears his throat and for the hundredth time (it seems) Beth offers him an out. She tilts her head to the windshield. The vibrant moon and distant stars acting as the sole source of light.

“You know anythin’ about stars?” she asks, apparently ready for a new story.

Stars? Like constellations and astrology? He frowns at his limitation.

“Just how to follow some patterns and where they might lead,” he explains. “None of that... starry-eyed shit or whatever.”

Yet Beth still seems genuinely impressed. The expression she always holds when he explains something new to her. Daryl can’t remember her looking that fascinated any other time at the prison. It’s as if she’s reserved this wide-eyed look specifically for him.

Daryl quickly tries to stifle that thought. It’s wrong to do this. It’s wrong to enjoy the buzzing feeling that comes with the idea of _him_ being _specifically_ special to _her_. Because they’re still the entirety of the group – even if they’re the last two, they still hold the others among them in some way.

What would everyone think of him? Rick. Maggie. 

Dirty. Wrong.

The friends, _family_ , who he had valued so much. How could he explain to them that he’s making out with the group’s sweetheart? It was an impossible thing to visualize. He couldn’t even do it without cringing and building a sweat.

But it’s even harder to imagine those numbers when there’s just this  _one_ directly in front of him. The only one who seems to matter. Daryl sits tightly in his seat, on the far edge so there’s a whole galaxy in between their bodies. And of course there's one in front of them as well; he turns his head to the stars.

“North star.” Beth knowingly points at the brightest one. 

He nods his head in acknowledgement, his lips straining at her picking the most obvious choice. But he hides it behind the curl of his fingers against his mouth. There were so many on this clear night. Not even the canopy of the trees could hide them. 

"It's beautiful," she hums. The stars. 

 **_It's beautiful. Whoever did this cared._** **_They wanted these people to get a funeral._  **

**_They remembered these things were people before all this. They didn't let it change them in the end._**

**_Don't you think thats beautiful?_ **

Daryl watches her - curious face tilted up at the sky, blonde hair silvery in the moonlight.

“Really, none of that superstitious stuff? I always liked folklore,” Beth sighs.

“Callin' me superstitious?”

“Maybe.” She grins.

Daryl looks up at the shining stars. He’s heard stories from douche bags who’ve had too much to drink. Merle’s tall tales after he got back from the army and jail. Even his dad had pointed at a constellation once or twice and given him some bull-shit story about what it means. _Rednecks,_ he shakes his head.

But Beth’s face is earnest and unassuming – like always. How can he even think of saying no? (Although he briefly does). Half-heartedly rolling his eyes at the cliché, Daryl recites the Cherokee’s stories of the sky’s origins. The Daughter of the Sun and her fiery temper.

“Said that stars are spirit’s campfires. These kids prayed to be lifted 'ta the sky, now their light burns for 'erebody to see.”

“Where did you learn this?” She always wants to know that one.

“Here and there,” Daryl ambiguously answers. “Ironically ‘nough, it was never from Native Americans. Just sum’bitches who liked talkin' too much. They coulda gotten it wrong for all I know.”

“But you listened of course,” Beth surmises. She imagines a younger Daryl listening to the these tales, acting as if he didn’t care but absorbing all the information.

His vision switches warily at her implication.

“You’re a good listener,” she explains, nodding. “Y'probably had to learn to be, but I think you woulda been one all on your own anyway.”

He doesn’t know how to answer that. Is it a compliment? Or simply an observation? What is this girl doing with all her strange analyzations? But he doesn’t have to respond because apparently she isn’t done yet.

“What about your own stories, did’ja ever make your own stories up.” She nods to the sky.

And against his better judgment, he reminisces about the week he was lost in the woods as a kid. When his dad didn’t even notice he was gone. Staring at the sky and it was brighter than every spotty TV screen he’d seen. His small fingers pointing to the creations he ordained in his mind.

Daryl shrugs in embarrassment. Beth draws every secret out like bad blood from a wound; not a leach - more like sucking the venom out of snake bite.

“All the lights are gone now, and everythin’ everywhere is dark, but stars are brighter than ever.”

He can only nod in agreement. Stars were stars. He’d always seen a lot of them from the depths of the woods. Just another part of life, it didn’t have to mean anything special. Though for some reason that feels like a lie even in his head.

“I’ve seen things I’d never know otherwise. And some of those things are actually nice, maybe even nicer than before.” Beth looks over at him meaningfully.

Sounds like she’s trying to overshadow all the ugly with the good.

"Nicer than before" literally sums up his whole experience at the world's end. How sad is it that his life improved _after_ dead people started walking? Everything nice for him has been on the other side of the apocalypse. 

But for someone like Beth, even _now_ , after all she's lost.. it’s still nice? It's still good?

**_And we’ll be good._ **

* * *

 

Things were off to a rocky start. Beth was learning about the right and wrong foot places it takes to attack your opponent. Bodily placements. 

“With yer size, gotta think strategy. Can’t get as close as y’would with walkers, cause these fuckers will get’chu in a choke hold."

He advised to do everything possible to not let them lock around from behind. Once she got pinned, she wouldn’t have enough weight to push her way out.

“Best bet is get in 'n out, far away nough’ as ya can, after strikin’ them in a kill spot.” He does a pretend jab to her neck.

“An artery,” Beth correctly answers.

“Right.” Daryl nods. “Gonna need ta' make significant blows to escape. Don’t stick ‘round 'n fight someone bigger if y’don’t got a weapon.”

She nods her head, processing all the information.

“Now if he does…” 

“What makes you think it’s a man?” 

Daryl lips turn into a straight line. She’s always got something to say.

“This ain’t no gender study class, college girl, now pay attention,” he huffs. “If _they_ do get’chu close, grabbin’ your wrist, don’t pull straight back, pull downward 'stead.”

He grabs her wrist, and he still has part of his hand to spare. It feels like holding on to barely nothing. Damn she’s tiny. Part of it endears him and the other half is scared shitless if she ever gets in a real fight.

“G’head and pull.”

And it works, she’s free.

But he is grabbing her shoulder, turning her and encircling his arms around her. Beth feels her body heat up as he pulls her closer from behind. How can Daryl be so awkward at times, but when it’s under the ruse of survival, he’s clear headed as can be.

“Say yer caught from behind, not a whole lotta options left.”

“So I should give up?” She nods her head in jest.

“Wise-ass. Use the back of the skull to knock em’ in the nose. Plant yer feet firm 'n shoot back up.”

“Should I practice on your nose?”

He scoffs. “I’ll move outta the way.”

"Great, guess I'm doomed," Beth concludes.

"Only cause I know it's comin' now," Daryl tries to motivate her, his voice a tad remorseful at the idea of disheartening her.

Beth plants her feet and swings her head back. She hopes she never needs to use this technique again. Remembers the two men she's since had to fight off. Would there be more? Most likely. Thinking about it makes her wish Daryl would keep his arms tight around her. He's always warm.

“Good. Lotta people flail ‘round when they caught like this, but nothin’ left to do with your arms now. Try pitchin’ forward to see what happens.”

Beth arches and throws herself forward, straining her arms in front of her too. Suddenly there’s a popping snap at her back. Daryl lets her go.

“Ow," she huffs, complaining at the scraping.

But then she feels clasps at both sides of her torso and a loose garment on her shoulders.

_Oh shit._

Her bra had broken. Isn't that just perfect timing?

Beth clutches it to her front and tries subtly to grasp at her back, sensing for the damage. Dang, it feels like the clasps had ripped off. Well it was an archaic bra; sweaty, dingy, and didn’t fit right anymore. She guesses she could have done away with it by now, but it would be embarrassing to have her chest peeking through or annoying chaffing against the fabric of shirt. And she kind of needs to run often. _Ow_.

It was strange, Beth had found that her body was a bit different. Not in puberty, of course, but the curves of early adulthood as you exit the late teens and enter your twenties. She remembers her Mama saying that she hit that stage around Beth’s age. Undressing fully for the first time in weeks the other day, Beth was surprised to see these changes in her body despite the never-ending exercise and unpredictable diet. The once roundish softness of her youthful face had even melted away to reveal a more mature looking woman. 

She was intrigued by this slight change, but to have it exhibited in front of Daryl was kind of humiliating. Beth reflexively turns around so he can’t see what’s behind her back.

“Uh,” she stutters.

Daryl’s lips are pressed together and he looks down at his shoes.

“Think that’s ‘nough for now,” he offers.                                          

“Okay,” she squeaks.

Beth saunters off to figure out what to do about “decency.” She’s wearing a tightly fitted shirt and her cardigan doesn’t button beyond her belly button. She pulls the out the ruined bra and determines that the broken clasp is not fixable. 

Well, being prim and proper isn’t one of the perks at the end of the world. She’s more concerned about being physically uncomfortable. Beth tosses the bra; good riddance old friend.

When she returns, Daryl is sitting at the campfire and toying with the strings of his crossbow. She sits adjacent to him, hoping he doesn’t ignore her after possibly being embarrassed.

“Think we 'outta move again 'fore night fall?” Beth asks, ignoring the awkwardness. 

“Nah, s'good clearin’ here. Won’t get as much walkers.”

Daryl lifts his gaze to her. And she sees the immediate concentration in his face - focusing a little too obviously on her eyes.

She feels guilty for making things forever weird. Why is it always _her_ body that is causing trouble?

In the early days, with her squatting behind a bush to pee and him standing watch and kicking at dirt to seem busy. She remembers the times she's since been on her period; once asking him to turn away in their camp while she fumbled opening wrappers of tampons she found, or the several holes she dug a day to throw rags into, him stopping short and turning around.

It seemed he was _always_ witnessing something private of hers. Never the other way around. He's a wall that she's been shoveling and digging her way underneath. And apparently she's a wide open gate for him to gaze through. Great. 

Beth doesn't know that he wouldn't blame her for being anything but what she naturally is. He knows that she can’t help the fact that she has different bodily needs than him; wardrobe malfunctions included.

But Daryl doesn’t require another reminder of his inescapable attraction for her. Would things be this awkward if he wasn’t battling this rising interest? It might be easier to roll with the punches if these interactions didn’t feel like an actual punch in the gut every time.

Why did he have to be so captivated by her inwardly as well as outwardly? Daryl wasn’t Merle – pretty appearances weren’t the leading factor that drove him to the arms of women. Hell, he barely got much action before the world ended, so he slipped into the dry spell of the apocalypse quite smoothly.

Now here was this girl who was a stab to his heart and… other places. Every place really. 

 _Stop,_ Daryl silently admonished himself. He had to stop the directions of these thoughts. There was only so far things could go.

 


	10. Chapter 10

They sped down the road, passing signs that pointed to the main highways. Of course they ignored them. Sticking to the backgrounds was the only option. But even after having filled the car up with gas, the mileage was draining.

Beth rummaged through a hidden stash of CD cases in the car, they were mostly empty or shattered but she enjoyed looking at the covers. Until she found one in particular that contained an actual disc that was still intact.

“Patsy Cline!” she exclaimed. “My mama loved her.”

Daryl side-eyes her flailing.

“Can’t believe it. Look Daryl.” She presents it to him as the holy grail of CDs.

“I'm watchin’ the road.”

“Well I’m playin’ it,” she sighs happily. “That okay?”

“Guess so,” Daryl says, without interest.

“Don’t like her?” There’s an offended edge to Beth’s voice.

And he takes the bait. “She the one that whines a lot?”

“Patsy Cline did _not_ whine, she sang about heartache."

“Reckon they can go hand in hand,” he reasons.

“You suck. I’m playin’ it.”

The first song plays and croons a tale of love and sorrow. The next one is the same syrupy tune of wayward lovers and restless farewells. Beth purses her lips as she realizes that maybe Daryl was kind of right. And she doesn’t have to look far to see that he’s wearing a smug smile in the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t care,” she loudly declares over the music. “She’s still a great singer.”

“Like yer voice better.”

“Mine?” Beth asks, in shrill surprise. “Over _hers_?”

“Hell yeah.” Daryl turns to her for a second. “It’s higher and softer… I guess”

She stares in wonder at this uncensored compliment.

**_Why don't you play some more, keep singing._ **

“Any way." Ceasing his embarrassing admiration. “Never much liked ‘honky-tonk’ country singers.”

Beth smiles at this discovery - another fact to file away in her _Daryl drawer_. The road became denser as they eventually drove to what looked like an unfrequented trail. Daryl pulls the car into a grove of trees and thick brush, effectively hiding the car.

“Gas is ‘bout to tank. Might as well abandon ship now,” he asserts.

“Good idea, at least there’s no walkers ‘round.”

“Dunno know that yet,” says Daryl. “Gotta scope out the area first.”

She pointedly looks at their solitary surroundings. “But it does look like the road less traveled.”

“Hope so.”

Beth leans back in the car seat and briefly closes her eyes. Patsy Cline still singing in the background. And the heater is blowing warm air. She wishes they could keep the car permanently, but it’s smarter to draw less attention when all they had for defense was the two of them. It’s not like the prison when they had a whole armory behind their gates.

“We should prolly go,” Daryl’s voice is soft beside her. He feels like he’s crowding into a moment of hers.

“I just like this song the best,” she sighs. “This is the only one I could remember when I was little, cause the lines were all the same.”

_Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you._

_I'm crazy for trying._ _And crazy for crying._  

_And I'm crazy for loving you._

She hums along to the song. And then Daryl slacks into the back of the seat – feeding off her relaxation. They’re hidden well enough. Hopefully. He probably should stop allowing things that could get them into trouble. 

Like drinking moonshine in the middle of the day. 

Burning down a cabin. 

Or resting in a parked car.

They’re all kind of connected aren’t they? Beth generates so many scenarios he would have never imagined. But now that these moments are here – he’d mourn the loss of their impact if he hadn’t had them at all. Her too. She being wrapped up in the whole picture.

And the regular waves of guilt waves crash in at that inward confession. This whole 'thing' was way more intense than he ever imagined - maybe he shouldn't have been imagining anything at all. He _did_ give up the respect of their group for her.

Daryl feels like he betrayed their whole code - all the familial trust he had built. It wasn’t _supposed_ to go down like this. Daryl was only supposed to protect her. He didn’t know that it would spiral to deep-rooted attachment. A deep well of longing. The relaxed feelings from a moment ago wash away, making space for that old and familiar self-loathing. Because apparently he'd give up their safety _just_ to make her smile.

“I’m gonna replay it one more time,” she says sheepishly. Because who knows if she’ll ever hear it again?

“Fine,” he states, tension in his voice.

Beth looks over at the change in his position. A second ago he looked comfortable in his seat. Now he’s sitting rigidly, chewing on his thumb nail. His tell-tale nervous habit.

“Y’okay?” she asks.

“Fine,” he repeats.

She sighs in disappointment. She always tells him when she’s annoyed. Or hurt. Instead, he just shows it - good thing she could read him so well. But Beth was never been able to keep that kind of stuff in. It crawls its way out. Sometimes she wishes she could _change_ even more, stop being such a bleeding heart.

Beth looks down at the scar on her wrist – the one that she regrets _so_ much – and feels lonely. And if she feels that way, she’s willing to bet Daryl does too. Why should they be stranded on separate islands? Can’t they be marooned together?

Suddenly, Beth reaches out and pulls the hand away from his mouth. She holds his hand between both of hers instead.

“Think it’s time to go,” Daryl rasps.

“I wanna stay a little longer.”

He shifts his gaze to the window and when he returns to her face, she’s still looking at him with those magnifying eyes – big and examining. Like he’s a specimen under her microscope vision. It's one of the many details of hers that annoy and fascinate him at the same time.  

“What?” he huffs, sorta frustrated.

“Think I miss you,” Beth explains.

Is she crazy? Like that Patsy Cline song? 

“I’m right here,” he sarcastically drawls. How does her brain work? He's willing to fund a case study.

“Are you?” she knowingly questions. “Well maybe come closer.”

So that’s it. 

“Dunno." Daryl fidgets.

“Don’t like kissin' me?” she asks, with blunt sincerity.

“That ain’t it,” he blurts. And then turns red at the exposure.

“Then what?”

“Just,” he scrambles. Daryl doesn’t have the words for this. “Why are we doin’ _this_?”

“Because _we_ want to," Beth answers for the both of them. She had thought he felt that way too..

"That it?" 

“There’s always more,” she smiles, hoping to reel him in. “But for now, kiss me?”

And she’s so lovely in this moment. In every moment really, but sitting across from him in complete openness he focuses a hunter’s eye on her heart-shaped jaw. Suddenly, it’s delicate between his hands. He ignores the painful stab of guilt in his gut. Ignores everything. He bends his neck downward and then her lips are under his. They cover them like a dark eclipse over the moon. Slow and inexplicable. 

And he feels her sigh beneath the pressure. Beth advances forward, relieving some of the awkward position of car seat’s angle, gripping where the bend of his neck meets his shoulders. She can’t believe she’s kissing Daryl Dixon to a Patsy Cline song.  

The sensation is brilliant, but not enough. It still feels lonely while sitting in this passenger seat.

So Beth pushes him back, his clinging hands immediately dropping from her neck. Ready to stop. But she quickly follows after by climbing into his lap, Daryl watching in mystification. Her legs clumsily finding rest on the both sides of his seat, one foot hitting the cup holder – but she doesn’t care.

Beth takes a moment to study his face - he looks like a hundred shades of doubt and desire. She wishes he would drop those feelings of inadequacy, let himself be fully happy for once. She plans to start dissolving that apprehension beneath her mouth, her hands.

And she does – ducking down to meet his lips once again. This time faster and starving for his oxygen. She feels his breath hitch as he slowly begins moving his own tongue against her own.

He tastes like cigarettes. Beth inwardly laughs at the idea that Daryl is her first smoke. Her first drink.

After minutes of their hardworking mouths moving together, Daryl can feel her growing out of breath. Yet, her grasp is iron-shut on his shoulders. He doesn't know when to stop. Stopping is inevitable. It's only a matter of _when_. And he squashes the uprising of disappointment, kicking it down in the belly, so that it might not rip through him and take over. 

But for Beth, the question is not when they should stop – instead how _far_ they should keep going. She’s fooled around with her other boyfriends, but like she’s said so many times before, _this_ is different. This is like nothing she’s ever held before. She doesn’t want it to go away, it’s the most she’s ever felt alive.

Her jaw aches from exertion. Beth was used to boys trying to go farther, testing the waters until she told them to stop. She never had to take the lead. But she sees that Daryl isn’t going to just make a move, he’s letting he do all the ‘talking’ and she doesn’t exactly know what to 'say.' Their kisses grow slow and Beth is panicking at the potential loss.

So she grips his neck and grinds her lower body down hard into his lap. Legs clenched around him.  

His intake of breath is loud and harsh in her ear, as she continues kissing underneath his jawline. Rocking up and down as she arches closer into his body. The warm air around them reminds Beth that she doesn’t really need her sweater, so she quickly sheds it and returns to work.

Daryl wasn’t expecting this uprising in Beth’s actions, he had thought she was starting to slow down – like their previous kisses. But things were speeding up instead. The tight pressure of her body is overwhelming and he simultaneously wants to jump out of the car and delve farther into her.

He needs to stop this. They could only go too far before things start becoming unavoidable. Mostly on his side of things – it’s not like she’ll be the embarrassed one. He'll be the vulnerable one due to the sheer physical nature of his body. He knows it's coming so  _soon_ and won't be able to avoid it. An avalanche caused by loud screaming. All the tell tale signs.

Unless he stops it. He chokes, "Beth."

But it's hard to speak as she suddenly takes his hand in hers and moves them beneath her shirt. Guiding it upward, Daryl freezes when he all too soon reaches the fullness of her breast. A soft and gentle slope.

As she palms him over herself, encouraging him to keep going, Beth’s kind of glad her bra had broken. Her hand hovers over the wasteband of his pants, she looks up at his face, asking for permission. 

Daryl’s eyes flits between the sight in front of him and Beth’s own face.

She’s still smiling. Always smiling. The pressure of her legs wrapped around him is radiating warmth, too perfect. There’s an ache pounding in his head as well; one that’s screaming for him to keep going and never stop. But it’s arguing against a more powerful force, one that deflates him.

Daryl takes his hand out of her shirt. His face burning. He really has no game. 

In another life he can hear Merle’s mocking voice, _Little light in the loafers ain’t ya brother?_

Beth backs up, knowing that he was silently telling her he was done for today. And she respects his line of conclusion. “Was that okay?” she asks, self-conscious over her actions. 

She's confused. She could feel the pressure of him building beneath her at the end. And now he stops? 

“Yeah,” he exhales. She’s still sitting on top of him. Where are his eyes supposed to land? 

“It was nice, right?” Beth’s youth coming full front.

That twinges at his heart and conscience.

“Yeah,” he repeats. It was more than nice – also absolutely petrifying.

“But.. we gotta go.. could be dangerous out there.”

And that’s the truth – some crazy person could be waiting for them beyond the trees. For the hundredth time, they’ve been fools to let themselves get distracted.

“So then let’s stay in here,” she quips.

“Beth,” he rebukes. “C’mon.”

Daryl bumps her shoulder, a signal for her to climb down.

He needs to leave this situation immediately. He tries to imagine the walkers he took out earlier today; gouging eyeballs and rotting teeth. Everything gross and terrible to abort all these signals crying out in his body.  

When they desert the car, Beth casts it a farewell glance. She had taken her favorite CD with her as a keep-sake. The song had multiple meanings for her now. After scouting the area, Daryl points to a trail that has been made by landscaper’s years ago.

“Could lead us to a spot,” he hypothesizes. “Don’t see much else ‘round here.”

He holds his crossbow tight and Beth wonders if he feels as guarded as he looks.

“So what do y’think of _this_?” She motions between their bodies. “You wanted to know before.”

Daryl cringes. She really doesn’t forget anything.

“Was just thinkin’ out loud,” he answers.

“Yeah, but about what?”

“I dunno,” he mumbles. “Guess everythin’ and all that.”

Beth hums at the ambiguous answer. Just like the night at the funeral home; dragging out his feelings.

**_What changed your mind?_ **

**Oh _._ **

“So you’re lookin’ for labels or somethin'? Want me to tell you what we are?”

“No,” he automatically states.

And Beth tries to ignore the quick jab of pain.

“I mean,” he tries again. “Just think that things should be.. normal.. don’t hav’ta go outta our way to change anythin’ or y'know…”

She processes his jumbled statement. It didn’t make much sense. She had gotten pretty talented at Daryl dialect, but sometimes she needed a translator.

“So you want us to go slow, take it naturally?” Beth clarifies.

That sounds like the clean version – a societal norm that he had never known in his other life. Daryl guesses that’s what regular folks called their process. 'Taking it slow.'

“S'fine,” he mumbles. Though deep down he knew it wasn't. 

“But what do _you_ want?” Beth can’t help but question further. “What do you want from me?”

Daryl stops short and looks offended. Really offended.

“Don’t want anythin’ from you,” he yells. “What are y’gettin’ at?”

**_What you want from me girl, huh?_ **

“It’s not a bad thing,” she quickly explains. “Like I want things from you, I want you to care about me the same way I care for you.”

He huffs a small breath of air. He knew this shit was going to be complicated, but every time he verbally faces it, the whole thing seems horrifyingly unimaginable.

“Dunno what I want.” He looks her straight in the eye, sincere in his expression.

There’s a long beat before Beth speaks up, “That’s okay.” 

Even though it really hurt. In fact, no one she cared about had ever said anything that hurt that as much as that. Seems like he’s the only one with that power.

**_I never cut my wrists looking for attention!_ **

**_You ain’t never gonna see Maggie again!_ **

He spoke honestly, without sparing feelings or formality. And maybe the reason it hurt this much was because Daryl mattered more than anything else. She could admit that even if he couldn’t.

“I just really care about you is all,” Beth meekly states. “Y’know that.”

However, saying that didn’t feel like enough.  _Care_ didn’t seem right – it felt like a replacement word.

But Beth held her tongue. Even though it’s painful. Even though it feels like a cloud of words are ascending from her throat and caught in a cage of teeth, preventing them from reaching the gate. Embarrassment acting as a strict gatekeeper. 

He’s already been pushed to his limit. So she dry swallows the pain.

Daryl looks away.

Of course he knows she cares about him, he’s not that stupid – but for how long? Because how old is she anyway? Look how Beth dealt with her last boyfriend’s death. Can she handle _this_ instead? Daryl ponders the severity of her claims and how it’ll affect him if he lets her _completely_ inside. Would it be a mistake?

He doesn’t know the answer. But he can’t leave her out to dry either. Daryl reaches out to her shoulder, rubbing it softly. Because he doesn’t have any words left. 

Beth shakes her head in understanding – telling herself to hold back any emotion.

“Let’s go,” she turns away.

_And I'm crazy for loving you._

 


	11. Chapter 11

They had discovered an abandoned fire-house. It’s small and isolated like everything else out here. The little town nearby that the firemen once would have served has been burnt to a crisp. For whatever reason, they can only imagine.

But the firehouse looks safely forgotten – and sturdy. The windows boarded up and a tightly guarded door as if someone once upon a time had sheltered there.

So Daryl goes in through the roof. And opens the door from the inside for her.

“Careful, it’s kind of a mess.”

Beth lifts her feet over broken bottles and fallen chairs. The garage is mostly empty – including the fire trucks. Maybe they went to the burnt up town?

A shiver runs through Beth’s spine at the possible horror story.

“There’s a kitchen and some cots through the door.” Daryl points to her. “All clear.”

The back is relatively tidy with a spare room and comfortable cots. While the tiny kitchen is plain with one dinner table. Rummaging for food proves to be extremely beneficial. They find water, cereal, nuts, granola bars. And the best of all – cans. Canned ravioli, canned fruit, canned beans.

“What a good day,” she sighs, while eating the fruit.

“Bout to get better,” Daryl calls out from scavenging a pantry. “Look what I found.”

And he produces a bottle of alcohol in front of her.

“Oh,” Beth breathes, excitement filling her. “Can we?”

“Reckon we’re locked up ‘nough.” He looks around the kitchen, with one boarded up window. “Just don’t drink too much.”

“Well that took a lot less convincin' than last time.”

When they were at the moonshine cabin and she had to persuade him into drinking with her.

**_What are you my chaperone now?_ **

“Yer good at arguin’,” he huffs. “Better than I woulda guessed.”

“I’d call it debating.”

“Doin’ it now." He rolls his eyes.

Beth laughs. “Pour me a glass.”

They sit contently at the round table, with dinner and a drink in their hand. Daryl has easily downed his glass, but Beth has swirled her around in her hands, sniffing the liquid.

“What?” he questions.

“Smells real strong,” Beth worries.

“Peach schnapps would be yer poison if it weren’t for me.” Daryl shakes his head.

“I’m just not used to it,” she justifies. “Here I go.”

“Bottoms up.” Daryl raises a glass to her.

She takes a small sip. The whiskey burned the back of her throat and one for one scary, potentially humiliating moment Beth thought she would puke.

“Ugh,” she bemoaned. “That’s awful. Why would anyone want to drink this?”

“Member moonshine? Gets better.”

“Okay, okay.”

Beth takes another gulp. It’s just as bad as the last sip, she scrunches her face up in disgust. Daryl laughs - enjoying the ‘try hard’ look on her face that’s met with revulsion after she takes another gulp. 

An hour goes by and she’s barely on a second round. “Moonshine was better,” she sounds woozy. The after taste of the whiskey was the worst part.

“Take it easy.”

“I want to like it,” Beth sulks.

“Well hard drinkin’ is hard livin’,” states Daryl. “And ‘sides, it don’t suit you.”

He reaches for the glass, but she grabs it.

“Didn’t say I couldn’t do it,” Beth says. “Y’done with yours?”

Daryl swirls the liquid in his hands and then down it in a second, a slight smile emerging.

“Show off,” she sighs.

“Tellin’ you it gets easier.”

“Or maybe lyin' just gets easier,” Beth proposes. Her face feels numb. Like she has two faces – her real one and one that floated off.

“I don’t lie.” He shakes his head. “Ain’t ever worth it.”

And something inside Beth cracks when she hears that coming from him.

It was completely untrue – and he didn’t even know it. Blissfully unaware that there are a million different ways to be dishonest. She thinks back to earlier, when he wouldn’t admit what he feels for her. For them. When she knows he harbors it like an anchor, but refuses to set sail for shore.

Maybe under better circumstances Beth would have let this comment slide, but she feels uncensored in her speech.

“But people don’t have to tell lies to not be tellin' the truth. There’s other forms of bein' untruthful.”

“Like what?” His eyes narrowing.

“Like hidin' somethin’ or not being honest with yourself, people lie to 'emselves all the time, don’t even know it.”

“Well then it wouldna be a lie, if it wasn’t intentional,” he argues.

“Sure it is,” she concludes. “Might not be done with malice, but still a lie.”

Beth shakes her head, a wobbly motion.

“Yer drunk,” he dismisses. That’s enough to blow off her argument.

“Drunk words, sober thoughts,” she says, smiling.

When it comes to arguing she did always land on her feet. He was serious about the surprise over her skill. In a previous life, he wouldn’t have expected Beth Greene to be so good at it. He did underestimate her from the start. 

But instead of being impressed, Daryl feels an irritation brewing inside of him at her obvious attempts to insinuate that he’s dishonest.

“Y’got somethin’ to say to me?”

“I just said it.” Beth shrugs.

Daryl slams his glass down on the table.

“Dunno why we even try to drink together,” he grunts. “You’re…”

“I’m what?”

“Yer a bitch when y'drink.” 

“Am I?” she laughs, feeling a little mean as well. “Well you said it yourself too, you’re a dick.”

“But I know that.” Daryl swallows another sip.

“Except subtract the ‘when I’m drunk’ part, at least I’m not workin' full time.”

“Good one,” he grunts.

Beth frowns at this turn of tables.

Their fights drove her into emotions she’s never known before – he’s caused so many different fires inside of her. She never used to _yell_ at people. However, she’d take fighting over the cold-shoulder any day. Daryl was too good at that; no way she could compete with him in that area - she thinks. 

But now they're drinking and she wants to take advantage of his lack of guard and her boldness. She wants answers. 

**_And we'll buy beer to shotgun._ **

**_And we'll lay in the lawn._ **

**_And we'll be good._ **

“Let’s play a game,” she proposes.

“Beth,” he groans. Is she some sort of broken record?

“C’mon it’ll be good for us.”

“Yeah last time was real peachy,” he grumbles.

“We’re already being mean to each other,” she reasons. “And we’ll pick a different game.”

She racks her brain for one, but can’t think of one that involves drinking. She’s only watched ‘never-have-I-ever’ at parties.

“Know any?”

“What do y’think?” 

“Fine, truth or dare then.” She settles for the most obvious one from childhood.

He makes a scoffing noise. “Not really helpin’ yer age argument.”

“Don’t take everythin’ so seriously.” 

And then Daryl can’t help the cruel scowl on his face.

“Must be real easy for _you_ to say, y'ain’t the one everyone would be _mad_ at if they…” he stops short. 

His drink making him unconsciously open up the windows of insecurity. Beth feels her irritation melt away a bit.

“Daryl no one’s mad at you,” she soothes. “No one would judge you for tryin’ to be happy.”

But his stubborn face reveals that he’s not looking for comfort.

“So truth or dare?” she barrels in. “Take a drink if you bail out. But if you do it, then I take a drink. Then we switch turns.”

He sighs at the unending cycle. Maybe he could ignore her questioning? It’s not like _has_ to listen.

“Dare,” he glumly settles. Not at all surprised by how he gave in. Dammit. 

“Ok, I dare..” Beth ponders, wanting to start off light. “I dare you to.. Lemme give you a haircut.”

She’s been wanting to that for a while now. She can barely see his eyes anymore.

“No.”

“ _C'mon_.”

“Nope, I’ll take that drink.”

“Y’need one anyway.” She gets up. 

Daryl looks at her from underneath his hair – he’s gotten used to the shielding it provided.

“Your's is longer than mine,” he accuses.

She grabs a pair of scissors that were in the kitchen.

“I know how to use a hair tie,” Beth sasses. “Now hold still.”

“But you’ve been drinkin’,” he sounds slightly concerned.

“Relax, I’m fine.”

She motions her reflexes in front of him. “I used to give them at the prison all the time.”

Daryl sighs – guess hair isn’t important. It goes by quickly, anyway.

She starts cutting, periodically brushing pieces of hair away from his neck. Snipping mainly the long pieces on his forehead and the sides. When she’s done, he reminds her of the man she met on the farm. The new and mysterious group that brought worry to her family. The angry guy who stole her horse and who daddy had to stitch up. 

And the ones who protected them – who became everything and more.

“Looks good as new." She brushes the remaining hairs away.

“I was never new,” Daryl drawls. “But thanks I guess.”

“I’m serious, y’look handsome.”

Over his shoulder, Beth can see his ears turning pink. Maybe she should start telling him that every day so he gets used to the idea.

“First one down,” she says, while taking her seat.

And then drinks the mandatory shot of whiskey.

“Your turn,” Beth wheezes, feeling even more light headed.

Daryl starts to fret a bit. He’s not good at games – coming up with provoking questions and making the room interesting.

“A'right pick one,” he relents.

Beth rolls her eyes at how he avoided asking, ‘truth or dare’ like the game calls for.

“Truth,” she says, with confidence.

Daryl taps the table in thought, coming up short on what to ask. Beth waits patiently as the seconds tick by.

“I dunno,” he sounds troubled.

“There’s nothin’ you ever wanted to ask me?”

He mulls it over, hand curling on his mouth. “Y’really not bothered by my age? Seems off..”

“No I swear,” she automatically answers. “Anyway, it’s sort of part of the appeal.”

“Yer weird.” He shakes his head.

Daryl doesn’t understand why it doesn’t affect her like it affects him, but guess that’s the point – he’s the one who has to be guilty. He takes his drink, glad to have completed his turn.

“Ok truth or…”

“Truth,” he answers, interrupting her mid-sentence. He didn’t know what her other dares would be.

“Were you disappointed it was me that you escaped with, after the prison?”

Daryl’s breath sucks inward. Why would she do this? His hesitation revealing the answer.

“At first a little," he feels awful saying it, even though it’s her fault for asking. 

“Why?”

“Isn’t it only supposed to be one question?” he sighs in exasperation.

“Fine.” Beth looks away crossly. 

Her forehead creasing in hurt. He wants to reach over and smooth those annoying lines away.

“Ugh,” he groans. “Y’just freaked me out at first, I didn't know what to do. Was worried.”

“Really?” asks, relieved. She thought the answer might be that she wasn’t good enough.

“Yeah,” Daryl promises. “But y’still freak me out.”

“I freak myself out,” she smiles. And then takes a small gulp of her drink, cringing at its taste.

An idea pops into his head; if things only play out right.

“A'right truth or dare?” he fully asks this time.

She stares at him in curiosity. “Dare.”

“Dare you to down yer whole drink.”

“You asshole,” she whines.

“G’head.”

She glumly examines the glass before closing her eyes and pouring it down her throat. Beth’s face scrunched up in revulsion as she drinks as fast as she can. Daryl accompanies her, finishing his first.

When it’s over she comes back up for air, gasping, “So awful.”

“Whiskey ain’t your drink."

“Guess not,” her words drowsy.

“We outta stop now,” he says, while reaching for the bottle. That game wasn't so bad after all, at least not like last time. 

But panic rises in Beth. She hasn’t even gotten to the most important question – basically the whole reason for playing this silly game. 

“No I’m still playing. Truth or Dare?”

“Beth,” he scolds. She needs to learn when enough is enough.

“One more,” she begs. “Please.”

He throws his hands up in defeat. “A’right, _whatever_.”

“Truth or dare,” she repeats.

“Dare.” He looks her square in the eye. Her truths seem scarier than any dare. 

“I dare…” she trails off, thinking.

There’s only one thing she wants to know. To hear.

“I dare you,” Beth continues. “To admit everythin’ you feel for me.”

Daryl blinks at that large request.

“That ain’t a dare," he hisses, his voice angry.

“It’s my dare.” She drunkenly shrugs.

“And what'chu want you always get, huh?”

“Just speak up for once,” Beth cries, the alcohol making her bold.

“Shit, girl listen to y’self,” he exclaims. “Gettin’ worked up over a bullshit game, calm down.”

“I am calm,” she tries leveling her shaky voice. “After all this time, I keep tellin’ you what I feel but y'never tell me. Can’t you just answer me?”

“Cause it ain’t a good question.” He stands up.

“What I say Daryl Dixon – you’re a liar!”

He stops short. Quietness filling the room for a moment. 

And then he’s rushing over to her side and grabbing her arm and pulling her out of the chair. “Get off of me!” she yells, as he drags her to the hallway.

When they get to small room, Daryl pushes her in and closes the door. “Let me out!” She knocks on the door.

“Go to bed!” He leans on the door-frame. “And be quiet, gonna get us killed.”

“I ain't the crazy one lockin’ people in rooms!”

“I’m lockin’ you in because you _are_ crazy,” he dimly responds. Closing his eyes. 

“No, you’re doin’ it because you’re a damn, lying coward!”

Liar? Coward?

**_I want you stop pretending that you don't give a crap about anything._ **

**_That nothing we went through mattered, that none of the people we lost meant anything to you._ **

**_It's bullshit!_ **

Anger flares up in his body like an eruption from a volcano. Breathes in and out. Daryl's not fighting with her behind the cracks of a door hinge. He'll let it go – for now. He hears Beth slump into the cot. And her muffled breathing vaguely sounds accompanied by tears.

 _Shit_.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Beth wakes up with a pounding headache. Her throat terribly dry and aching for water. Creeping to the kitchen, she tries to avoid running into _him_. 

But of course Daryl is already there at the table, cleaning his crossbow. Maybe it’s time for her to start practicing the silent treatment – Beth feels like she could try it _now_. The point was to stay angry enough – maybe that’s why Daryl was able to pull it off.

“Packed our shit,” he dryly states. “Have a weird feelin’ bout this place, bein’ so close to that town.”

“Mm."

She grabs a water from her bag instead. Ignoring him. 

"Thought we might finally think 'bout headin' past the highway." 

But no answer from her - Beth simply shrugs her shoulders dismissively. 

His gaze rises at her lack of response. And the taste of anger is in his mouth; venenous and strong. So she’s still pissed. Well that’s just fine, because he is too. 

“Grow a pair!” Daryl suddenly bursts. “We got more important matters to worry about other than yer mood swings.”  

Beth gasps.

And sees red in her vision. Never, never,  _never_ before has she been this angry at someone she cared about. Because the truth is Beth doesn’t just care about him, she’s in love with him. She’s known for a while now. Maybe she’s always just been waiting for Daryl. 

Beth remembers watching him with curiosity on the farm, and then with admiration over his skills and generosity at the prison. When he abandoned them for his brother Merle she felt like a knife had cut into her.  _"I'm pissed at him for leaving,"_ she had said to Carol. And she felt it strongly - the rest of the group made excuses for his disappearance but she refused to ignore the pain of his absence.

Too bad for her though, because he’s a _jack_ _-ass_. Just like then and just like now.

“I sincerely don’t know what to do with you,” Beth strains, and flicks her hand at him.

“S'your fault for tryin, I said upfront what I was.” Daryl shrugs his shoulders. 

Pain clouding his vision as he says so. But it’s not like he can always go back on all his years of trained behavior.

“But I’m in love with you,” she exclaims, her voice growing softer at the end of it. 

He stares at her with hooded eyes - no more long hair to cover those eyes. Beth sees apprehension and fear there.

“And I know you feel it too,” she resolves. “So just admit it and stop lyin’ to me.”

A small noise of indignation escapes him.

“Let’s go,” he says darkly, ignoring her plea.

“Don’t ignore me,” she cries.

Daryl twitches in uneven emotion. What’s he supposed to do about this? About her? Everything spiraled so quickly.

He knew things might blow up in their face, but the idea of losing was already a weight he knew he’d bear in some form. Be it in their inevitable deaths or predictable disintegration. Because Daryl knew whatever was between them would end roughly, and yet he was still a selfish bastard, drawn in like a dumbass moth to a flame. Or she'd die - then he'd be left in a road, a ditch, an undeterminable waking nightmare. Hasn't she said that so clearly? 

**_I'll be gone someday._ **

He needs to learn to shoulder the pain. It all hurts already. 

“Yer wrong.” His answer frank and cruel. “Y’don’t love me.”

“That so?” she seethes, her anger bubbling to the top.

“It’s convenience tha’s all. We ain’t got no one to look at but each other. But that don’t mean we have ’ta...” he trails off.

Have to what? Daryl cringes at the vague image he put out there, accidentally revealing what he has interpreted from their relationship. 

“That what you think? Convenience?” Beth gasps.

“Go a’head and give me _one_ possibility of this ever happenin’ if we weren’t _all_ alone.” He motions between the two of them.

“And tell you what? That I wouldna' looked at you if we were still with the rest of 'em? You don’t know anythin’ bout it – cause I did.”

Daryl scoffs. That can’t be real.

He shouldn’t even be flattered by her revelation, but against his better judgment his heart starts to pick up in pace. Feels like a stupid little kid waiting to get a valentine’s day card. It’s not him. It shouldn’t be him. He can’t give enough. Can’t be enough.

Now it’s his job to stop this. It’s already gone too far. Too out of control.

“Y'dunno know what yer talkin’ bout, girl.”

“I don’t?” She is incredulous at his pigheadedness.

“Nah.”

Beth stares at him as he leans away from her - passively untangling himself from their argument.

It’s a weird thing to be this angry at the person who _supposedly_ gives you so much joy - who you love. It’s like a living and breathing oxymoron. The contradicting emotions running through her are racing with one another. Should she flood out the boiling anger? Or will her heart outpace fury to the finish line?

But it’s _Daryl_.

The man who’s taught her a new way to survive. Who wanted her to rise up to the challenges of the terrible, outside world and come out the other side a champion. Who said she _changed_ things. Changed his mind. 

**_What changed your mind?_ **

And its love that breaks through as the winner. Beth is rushing back up to him.

Before this, she’s never known heartache for a man. When Jimmy died she cried for her childhood sweetheart. After Zach, she promised to reminisce on him as he was - happy, youthful. But she had yet to understand what it’s like to be turned inside out. Claws at the skin, scratching through flesh and bone to find the right answer. And she wanted so badly to make this right. To be exactly what she felt. And what she felt was that he was hers. And she was his. 

Wasn't that the reason they specifically made it out together? Not that they were required to love one another, but instead that they were _meant_ to. Everything had been leading to this, hadn't it? 

“Daryl,” she lets out his name, in a strangled call.

He lifts his head at that - something in the tone of her voice that is impossible to ignore. Her eyes are moist and there’s red dots visible on her pretty face, an indication that she’s close to crying. 

 _Shit_. He makes everything worse. Daryl watches as she motions her hands passionately in front of him.

“Please, you gotta understand,” she begins. 

And for a minute he’s all ears. Wrapped up in someone giving him so much emotion; it's emotion that’s _only_ about him. He’s dealt with other’s feelings before - usually in the context of the larger group, greater concerns. But no one has ever really spilled their guts over him in such a frantic way. For a moment, he can’t help but be captivated.

“It ain’t about proximity.” Beth motions to their surroundings. “I don’t feel this way ‘bout you because you’re my only option, _no_ I feel this way because I don’t have any option _not_ to. I can’t help it.”

She tries to keep up with her breath, growing light headed as she reveals the whole story. "Spoiler alert” flares in her mind. Because there’s no hiding after this, no running away from the entire synopsis. Beth can’t imagine later on, sitting across from him, and ignoring all that she had put on stake. _Everything_ would be ruined. Beth must force him to see; to stop pretending he doesn’t feel the same way. Time was never on their side.

They need to act now.

“Cause if I had to choose between you and everythin’ ugly that’s happened, I’d still pick you. I don’t care how selfish I am,” her voice breaking at that guilty admission. “I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

She lets that hang thickly in the air. Her shame and whole heart laid before him. Because it means she could be with Maggie and Glenn. Rick and Carl. Michonne, Carol. Little Judy. And she’d still choose him.

Daryl wants to sprint farther into the distance forest. Far from this impossibility. Far from his heart that he was willing to leave here with her. How is he supposed to handle this weight? His head is processing all the different turns he can take, his hunter’s mindset already strategizing what to do. Which course should he pick?

He looks at her face trying to appear in control. And feels himself grow sick. Roots clinging to something decayed inside of him – never having properly grown right. A stunted specimen. It doesn’t matter that the sun finally found the barren wasteland inside him; it was just too late. He couldn’t fully surrender himself to someone like that. And especially not to someone in their group, this was family. Family who he had finally learned to love and be loved back. He wasn’t ready to give that up for the next step. And it was his job to protect her.

No, no it doesn’t matter what he feels or wants. No matter how much the image of them together painfully twisted in his gut; the loss of it. 

And this “thing” is all wrong - had been from the start. Because she’s just a kid. How can that be disputed when it was so obvious when they stood next to each other. Beth could leave all _this_ , emerge clean from water and slide right into some fairy tale. And where would he be left? Him, a dark rain cloud of soot and dirt. Left behind in the nightmare. Peering down at her small frame while she was making this argument didn’t really help her 'noble' cause. He felt like a villain in some shit story. 

And he resented her for all of it.

For being sweet and unavoidably attractive. For being too young. For being wide open yet frighteningly unpredictable at the same time.

For making him feel something that he couldn’t go through with. Things were fine before – or at least tolerable at best. Why did she have to do this to them? Why did she have to vocalize everything? Stirring up trouble when they were existing well enough as it is.

Sure, awkward spells happened. And agony was a thunderbolt hitting the core of his body during the moments he wished could be more. Painful to be so near something that lite up his whole world, that made him believe in a better future. But Daryl was willing to handle it. That was the difference between him and Beth – she refused to deny anything. He was well practiced at being uncomfortable, not getting what you want.

She’s spoiled.

Even if Beth means what she's saying (which he seriously doubts, c’mon she’s just a _kid_ ), he didn’t ask for it. He also didn’t ask to feel this way about her either. It makes him angry – angry that he wasn’t given the choice. When did he sign away his free will? How had it gotten lost within this one girl?

Cruelly, he regards her earnest face. “Don’t know what'chu want me ta say.”

Beth’s throat is ice as she tries to speak up, but she’s sure that only a fog of white smoke would come out. She knows that must be his final answer.

 _Breathe Beth,_ she assures herself. And the voice vaguely sounds like Maggie. The beloved, older sister who Beth basically said she’d deny over Daryl. The man who’s going to say no to her. And yet she still wouldn’t take it back. _Dammit._

“Daryl,” she begs. “I just want to be honest. I don’t want to pretend anymore, it’s exhausting. Aren’t you tired too?”

He is. His trembling hand resumes its grip on the crossbow just in case. He holds onto the anger instead.

Daryl says, with an irritable shake of his head, “Dunno but it can’t be like _that_.”

“So are you sayin’ that you do love me, but not willing to try? Or you don’t feel anythin’ for me at all?”

“Don’t matter either way.” He shrugs, and ducks his vision. 

“Just _answer_ me.”

“Why y’gotta make everythin’ into such a big deal!”

“Because if y'haven’t noticed we don’t got a 'lotta time left. Or at least I don’t, so I’m not gonna be a coward!”  

Daryl stares down at her in rage. _Coward_. The same word from last night. She’s playing a dirty trick, knowing he’ll rise to the bait of a challenge.

“Think I’m a coward?”

“Right now? Yeah, I’d say so.” She nods.

He reaches forward, and grabs her arm, dragging her closer to him.

“I ain’t ah' fraid of you,” he seethes.

“Yes you are.” 

That one hits hard, striking Daryl like one of his bolts. He drops her arm as though it had scalded him. 

“Think y'know everythin’?” he ridicules, with a cock of his head.

But it’s only to cover up his tracks. She does know everything – because he _is_ afraid of her. She’s the scariest thing out here, probably the most terrifying creature he’s ever met.

“Not everythin', just you,” Beth sasses.

Daryl scoffs at the sentiment. But again, his shaking hands demonstrate that yes, she’s not wrong.

“Then it should’be real easy to tell that I ain’t interested!” Daryl yells in his angriest voice. He hasn’t used it for a while and now it hurts his throat.

“You’re afraid I’ll die. And then it’ll hurt even more if you’d let this really happen." This is déjà vu on her tongue.

“ _Shut_ _up_."

“And ya feel guilty,” she correctly assumes.

“Yeah well, I’m takin’ it all back, don’t gotta be guilty no more!” he declares, violently throwing his arm in her direction

“Stop overthinkin’ this! And just.. just live Daryl. Don’t you want to _live_?”

She means it in the most abstract sense. Of course they’re already living, but what’s it worth if every day they ignore all that is right in front of them. What life is that? 

“This life ain’t ‘bout gettin’ what'chu want.”

“So then you do want me,” she hopefully concludes. Pacing in front of him. Heart poured out, spilling sloppily on the ground. 

 _Shit_.

“Better stop livin’ in a fairy tale little girl, gonna get y’self killed actin’ like a damn fool.” 

“I’m not asking for anythin’ unreasonable.” Beth passionately shakes her head. “Just asking us to try, please just try _, just tell me_.”

“Nah I ain’t built for this," he dismisses. "Neither of us are.” He continues to wave his hands irritably. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she shouts.

“Yer just a kid.”

“Funny, I thought y'were the one runnin’ away from an adult conversation.”

“Yeah well I ain’t exactly dealin’ with a real adult here,” he says, knowing that will anger her even further.

“I am too an adult! And what does it matter, it’s not like we have anyone else to offend except each other.”

“Don’chu even care what the others woulda thought?”

“Course I care! That’s just another reason why I _want_ you. They’d want us to be happy.”

_Want you._

Daryl can’t comprehend why she would in the first place. Especially when he’s treating her like this. But he’s resilient in his decision. He wouldn’t even know where to begin with her. He has no repertoire in his past to give him answers on what he’s supposed to do if he’d said, _"yes."_

The entire _Beth situation_ , as he dismally calls it in his head, should never have been considered. It should always have been, _"no."_

“No," he states. Calm voice. Final answer.  

That one word to end everything in an explosion of hopelessness. Beth realizes she's failed. Failed herself. Failed him.

“Please,” she whispers, trying once more. “At least admit out loud that y' do have feelings for me.”

But there’s only cold air in-between them. Even though Beth knows his temperature runs warm. She could take his arms, wrap herself in them, and be warm. Like a jacket - but it's one she's apparently not allowed to borrow. And definitely not allowed to own.

“Just say yes, you can _just_ nod… just anythin'  _please_ ,” she begs.

Daryl bites his tongue. It would be easy to do. Simply confess and move on, so she doesn’t drive herself crazy. It’s only fair. Maybe it’ll even be a relief to him, a weight lifted off his shoulders.

But then where would that lead? There’s no telling how much further this could screw them up. He still thinks he can stop this, go back to the way things were before everything spiraled. It doesn’t matter how long ago that was at this point. Even though ever since they burned the cabin down she hasn't left his mind.

He shakes his head - _no_.

Whether it’s his answer, or a refusal to at least be truthful, either way Beth knows it’s some kind of lie. And that makes it hurt even more.

Beth can’t believe he would reject their relationship after all that’s happened. When they know the taste of each other's tongues and the weight of one another's heart. When there’s a clock in the distance with her name on it, and one day it will stop ticking.

She knows he’s scared, but he’s being so selfish. They’re walking the thin line of borrowed time. How can he do this?

How can he do _this_? 

How? 

Beth wonders if she's been wrong about him all along. She hears all the hurtful things he's said before. 

**_Faith ain't done shit for us. Sure as hell didn't do nothin' for your father._ **

Does he really believe all those sad things instead? Instead of faith in good people? Just her father dead and it all pointless in the end?

Beth sniffs, and contains emotion that she doesn't want to show in front of him ever, ever,  _ever_  again. So maybe she didn't change his heart after all. His short-lived faith burned away along with all his sense. And.. still she loves him? It's not fair. 

Nothing has been fair for a long, long time.

Daryl turns away. Unable to look at the empty expression overtaking her delicate features. He knows how to make himself go numb; the on and off switch that lives within him. Lately, it’s been on all hours of the day and night, but now it looks like it’s time to shut it off. He must - for her sake. He shouldn’t feel these things for her. Daryl's ready to turn it all off. And hell if he doesn’t try to stop her from feeling it too.

Beth can't stand being here.

They _are_ constantly around one another. There’s hardly moments of impactful alone time. And now Beth is sick to death of seeing him every second of every day (when it previously had been a wonderful thing). Now it just hurts to look at him.

So she turns on her heels and walks in the opposite direction, grabbing her backpack on the way out.

Daryl watches her go as if he’s simply viewing a sad scene in a movie. As the frantic audience member, he calls out in concern.

“Hey!” he shouts.

But she walks out of sight. 

 _Shit._ Daryl is rushing in the same direction, and finds her headed for the door.

“The hell you goin’?”

She truly was never one for the cold shoulder. Maggie used it in high school when she fought with Daddy, but Beth couldn’t ever muster enough energy to hold a grudge. Her energy was always expended elsewhere. Like proving to Daddy that she was mature enough to start dating by asking him advice on boys. Or leaving college brochures that were located outside of Georgia on the kitchen table for her parents, _"Look at the music program at this one. Cool right?"_ Beth was all quiet strategy, generously moving at the pace of her opponent.

But she's never been this kind of hurt before - she didn't have any empathy left.

“Beth.” His tone sounds scared now. 

She doesn’t turn around.

“ _Stop it._ ” Daryl reaches out and grabs her.

Expecting this, Beth squirms out of his reach. But he’s not fooling around this time and then pulls her tightly by the wrist. However, she uses the fighting skills he taught her and yanks her arm hard in a downward fashion.

It works and she’s released from his grasp. Still, she’s stumbling backwards from the force of her pull, landing on her left hand. Beth shoots back up to run away but he’s quick to wrap his tree branch arms around her from behind, fully preventing her escape. From their lessons, she remembers this is the worst position to be caught in.

So Beth swings her head back and forth hoping to get a good enough shot at him. When that doesn’t work, she kicks her legs out and tries to gain her footing so that she can turn around. But she’s only rewarded with him hiking her up farther in the air, so that her feet are dangling off the ground. _Damn it._  

Growing tired, Beth slacks in his arms, leaning against the broad expanse of his shoulders.

She was right, he is warm. And the familiar smell of his leather jacket makes her want to cry. Cry because Beth knows she still loves him. Cry because it’s not enough. Beth is already mourning something she never even entirely had.

Daryl lowers her but keeps his arms tight. His ragged breath in her ear. He doesn’t know what to say. There’s nothing to fix her sadness, her hurt. Nothing to alter his damage or anger.

All he ever wanted was to be enough for this girl; be everything she needs. Daryl had no idea _this_ would come with it. He didn’t understand how they’d ended up here – with the heartache that’s written about in music. The melodies she sings late at night with moonlight in her voice. A sweet sparrow song - he didn't know it was so sad. 

Now that there’s only pain standing as the victor, his previous anger begins to wash away. Typical. He’s left with a deep ache - one he’s willing to bet that Beth won’t want to soothe.

He unravels himself from her soft form; ignoring how good it feels to have her body against him. How well she fit in his arms. Probably the last time too. Daryl’s quite sure that she won’t want him coming any closer afterwards. At this point it seems like she doesn’t want him around at all.

As she stands strangely still, he notices, for the hundredth time, that he can see straight over her head. Blonde hair curling in the messy ponytail. She’s so distinctly female. There’s no other way to put it. He doesn’t mean this in a brutish or belittling way. It’s just that nobody left had been as unapologetically feminine as Beth. In appearance or spirit. The small side braid unnecessarily tied into her long hair  _“to express myself_ , _”_ he remembers her once explaining with a good-natured smile. 

The women he had known in his previous life had been brief and brash, but Daryl never really spent much time with girls until after the wold ended. And all the women in their group were different than Beth. She wasn't like anybody else he's known.

**_I’m not Michonne, I'm not Carol, I’m not Maggie!_  **

But he doesn’t want her to be anything else though. Stay exactly what she is.. even if he can’t have her.

“Beth?”

She swivels around and there’s tears in her eyes, making them even bluer. And she regards him with a withdrawn expression, making his stomach flip upside down.

Daryl swears he’ll figure a way for them to move pass this. Back to a safe spot where they can take care of each other like before. Because he can’t do this alone. He needs her. And that’s why this cannot happen.

“C’mon.” He leads them back to the kitchen.

And against the desire of screaming pain, Beth picks up her feet and follows.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is the end! I just posted like 8 final chapters in one night. Bottom line is I'm just bad at long-term stories. I felt weird sitting on them and didn't feel like editing anymore, so I decided to publish them all at once. Sorry if that was overwhelming, but thanks to anyone who read! Enjoy.

They walk and walk and walk.

And that’s mostly it.

Daryl adapts to their new companionship – few words here and there. Lots of space in-between. Strained, tight voices. 

She's walks a few feet back from him. It's just like the early days when he kept a brisk pace in front of her. Unable to talk to her about what happened - all they had lost at the prison. But unlike like the early days, they had switched roles. Now she's the mute one. Composed of silent head nods and undeterminable shrugs of the shoulder. 

It makes him feel it even more like an ass for how he acted in those dreadful days. When all he would speak was in the form of some command, _"stay here"_  or  _"this way."_ He didn't want to talk to her back then.

Daryl can’t help it now - he misses her voice. Her questions and answers. He misses the energy she stimulated in any circumstance. He misses her sweetness. Her impish humor that made him roll his eyes. Now all those smiles are lost in a face of straight laced lips. The lips that he was acquainted with at one time. But he’s a survivor, he must adapt. It’s for the best anyway.

They carry on until they hit the outskirts of the lonely highway, an isolated plaza of buildings in the distance. One that is familiar to Daryl.

“I know this area, we’re not too far off from where I grew up.”

Beth brightens at that information, but then realizes she can’t do anything with that knowledge. It’s a dead-end road at the moment.

“There’s a place some miles off, in the woods. An ol’ historic house. I been to it when I was a dumbass kid wanderin’ too far.”

Daryl side eyes her and see she’s listening. At least her ears still work.

“Anyway, it was real maintained,” he continues. “So it wouldn’t get run down, it had a lotta security locks. And a wood burning stove and fireplace. I could see the layout from the outside.”

“So you want to go to it?” Beth finally asks, wary. 

“It’s gonna get pretty cold soon, a place like that was built to be warm 'nough  without no heaters and shit. Might even still have supplies. Bet no one thought to go there.”

“And if it’s not there anymore? Or _someone_ is there?

“We'll camp out in the backyard,” Daryl sarcastically states. “Nah we'll just keep headin’ North, we’re at the tip top of Georgia anyhow.”

“Why North?”

“Why not? Sometimes Rick would talk ‘bout it,” he trails off. 

“Gets even colder,” Beth mumbles. She never experienced a northern winter.

“I ‘spose it does. But there ain’t nothin’ left out here, not nearly ‘nough game either. More places to scavenge up there, more shit.”

“How would y'know, said ya never left Georgia." Beth didn’t mean for it to come out harshly, but it did.

He looks over after hearing the bite in her comment. Usually when she gives him shit, she delivers it with much more goodhumor. Or if she is angry her quips are surprisingly feisty. This time she simply sounds morose and detached.

“Well there was television, and I could even _read_ ,” he grunts. 

“Guess I’ll see for myself.”

Daryl flinches. She hasn’t been saying “we” very much – that is when she _is_ speaking at all.

“Might as well stay for what's left of winter if we can,” Daryl decides. “It’s not too far from a river, we’ll have water.”

"Too long,” Beth glumly whispers to herself. Right now moving from place to place felt best. It gave her room for space from him and to ability to clear her head. Now she has to spend all that time with him in one place?

Great.

“C’mon we got some plannin' to do,” he says. 

And they go forward.

* * *

 

In order to bunker down for a longer chunk of time, they had to scavenge for more supplies. They already had a few necessities on hand from the firehouse. But those bags were getting heavy and they were only going to get heftier with more supplies.

Daryl hot-wired a truck left on the highway. They were only going to use it to transport their findings far enough to their destination.

Then they broke into several of the abandoned cars and collected all they could. Blankets, tools, forgotten cans of food. She had found one dead woman in the front seat, who seemingly killed herself, the gun lying next to her like a large and scary story. A bullet to the head. 

Beth shivers in horror; some things you can never get fully used to. What a lonely death.

“C’mon.” Daryl motions softly and she goes willingly, after having taken the weapon.

Their real goal was the plaza across the road; downward and winding into three buildings lined next to one another.

Driving down in the truck was eerie – they didn’t know if anyone was here. But it looked secluded enough. They’ve only seen a few strangler walkers so far, a positive indication of isolation. From the car they observe three buildings; a dentist, vitamin store, and a small outpatient-facility.

“Shit like this was far in-between up here,” Daryl explains. “Lot of health crap was all in the same area.”

She nods in understanding. Her voice remains hidden, but she won’t lie to herself – listening to him speak was still enjoyable. 

Asshole. 

“Ok,” Daryl starts the game plan. “I’m gonna go in first, y’stay here and I’ll come back when I need help.”

“No I’m comin'."

He doesn’t get to boss her around this the time. He lost all that power when he drew the imaginary line between him and her. So he doesn't get to cross that line whenever he simply decides. Also she’s not letting him go by himself. Daryl might pretend that he doesn't care, but she's not a coward. She's made up her mind.

“Beth.” His voice is tired.

“Look we have an extra gun now so I’ll be fine,” she says, and steps out of the vehicle. “I’m comin'.”

It's the most she's said all day. Daryl stares at her from the window. 

“Thought y'wanted to get away from me," he abruptly states, surprising even himself. 

She shifts her eyes over at him, through the opened car door, and it looks like she actually _sees_ him. Like he's not just a ghost in front of her. 

“Only because it hurts.” Beth’s voice is soft.

He examines her resilient form. 

And then she sees a searching look in his face and can’t help herself. Weepy words that waterfall down in a gurgled mess. Because his sad eyes bring back too many memories.

“Only 'cause I love you.”

Daryl sucks in his breath at those words. So hard to hear. Everything he’s avoided in his lonely life. But at the same time it’s everything he searched for too.

“Fine," he resolves. “You can come.”

The vitamin store and dentist office are both small, one floor buildings. No signs of walkers. They carry the supplies in boxes that were left behind. Beth looks at the precious provisions – it’s a lot of useful stuff. Vitamin tablets that they weren’t getting in their limited diet, dental supplies, more water. It was picture perfect.

But the real find was the outpatient facility. The clinic was bigger – with three levels. Carrying empty bags with them, they head out.

“Stay behind me,” Daryl warns.

The first floor is easy, it was the offices where doctors and patients must have met one on one. The waiting room is empty with discarded magazines and purses. They pack general medical kits; band aids and antiseptics.

The second floor is wider, where specialized care must have occurred. Daryl bangs on the walls. Checking the individual rooms for walkers.

“All clear.”

Beth heads into one of the patient rooms. There are posters of teenagers with safe sex mottos. Another of a young mother holding her baby and a concerned face – one of those safety messages. She looks around the room and there’s pamphlets accompanying these posters. _Ugh,_ she remembers getting those in school. She rolled her eyes then too. It's like no one was willing to talk about anything difficult.

Opening the first drawer she finds gauze pads, over the counter medicines, and hallelujah – tampons. It’s a great discovery, but hopefully Daryl was locating even more. She opens the bottom drawer, the largest one. And stops dead in her tracks.

It’s a tub of condoms. Hundreds of them.

“Shit,” Beth breathes out. Then whips her head of her shoulder, as if Daryl was watching behind her. It feels that way.

She examines her bag, it _still_ has plenty of room. But it would be presumptuous of her to think that she would be using these condoms any time soon. But _still_. It would be a waste.

 _Maggie would take them_ , Beth rolls her eyes. 

She grabs the tub and dumps the contents into her bag. She knows this scene looks ridiculous, so she’s rushing as fast as she can to zip up and get out. Beth casts a look at the poster with the teen holding a thumbs up.

“Shut up,” she tells it. And out the door she runs.

Right into Daryl.

“Find anythin’ good?" he asks.

“Yeah.” Her voice all high pitched.

Daryl scrunches his eyebrows. "And?”

“Oh just some general medicine.”

“That it?” he asks suspiciously.

“Tampons,” she blurts.

“Oh.. good." He nods.

And walks toward the end of the hall.

“Found some serious antibiotics.” He sounds pleased. It’s been days since she heard that note of happiness in his voice.

“Great." Beth can’t help her own happy tone. She feels like she’s carrying a secret weapon in her bag.

Daryl looks back at her in surprise. She’s happy too?

“Yeah it is,” he agrees. “Last floor now.”

They head up the stairs quietly, confident in their successful mission. Opening up the heavy door they find a room that looks like a mini hospital – with rooms set up for surgery, heart monitors next to tables.

But it’s a mess, obviously having handled the outbreak in a panic. Decaying bodies strewn around the floor. It stunk to high heaven. After waiting minutes from banging on the walls, they take cautious steps forward.

“The hell is this place?” Daryl obviously having not spent time in one.

“Outpatients perform small surgeries,” Beth explains, while covering her nose. “They didn’t need overnight care.”

“Let’s go quick,” he advises, not liking the look of this floor.

He heads into the first room. “I'll grab IV bags and fluids.”

Beth walks down the hallway, avoiding the two decayed bodies, their bones showing. They must have been killed and left here. Another shiver goes up her spine and she walks farther down.

There’s a huge door leading into another section of the facility – maybe the doctor’s quarters. It’s not part of this surgery section, but maybe there’s more important stuff behind it? Beth places hear ear to the door to check, pushing on it slightly.

But it feels like something is blocking it. The weight spread all over, not just in one spot. Weird. 

Too weird. Daryl.

She makes to turn around, back to him – but WHAM.

_Ow._

Beth lands hard on the ground.

And suddenly the soft moans of the dead are around her. 

So many. And they’ve just been waiting behind those doors for someone to finally come by. 

And it had to be her.

“Daryl!” she screams, and scrambles to her feet.

But there’s too many in front of her. Too many to kill.

All around, in every space, their long fingers reach desperately for her own limbs, their low hanging mouths already wide open. Falling apart due to time, decay, and hunger. Yet there legs seem strong as ever when confronted with someone so warm blooded.

But Beth ducks and quickly crouches beneath them. Her only alternative is turning the opposite direction of Daryl, running down that unknown hallway. There were less walkers in that direction. She barely makes it by their grabby fingernails. Pushes the last one away with the heaviness of her bag. 

“Over here over here!”

She hears the voice in the distance, Daryl must be trying to get to her. Whips her head quickly back - there’s too many behind her. There must be a hundred.

“Daryl!” Running to the end of the hall way proves to be just that – a dead end.

With a medical cart blocking the way. Beth jumps over it. Her gun now in hand. She looks out the window – there’s a ledge on the building. Too late to think of anything else. The walkers are almost here. Beth pulls the trigger, shooting the window. 

Fragments of glass flying.

“Out the window!” she screams to Daryl, before she catapults herself to the ledge.

* * *

 

Shit shit shit.

Shit.

Daryl saw the walkers bursting like lava from the doorway. Before he could reach her there was already a mass crowd surrounding the area.

Her body nowhere in sight.

His knife jabbing into head after head after head. Until he sees one blonde head through the crowd, running fast from their grasp.

“Beth wait!” he shouts.

He wouldn’t be able to find her in that direction. There were too many. Swallowing them whole. If he wanted to get to her alive, he’d have to clear the crowd much faster.

“Over here!” He waves to the walkers, guiding them to the direction of the stairs. "Over here!" 

There’s a gunshot in the distance, that sounds foggy in comparison to the loud moans of the dead. But it signals her attempts at _something_.

When he gets to the end, Daryl’s lungs give out. These monsters have filled the entire hallway, from side to side. More and more just kept flooding out the door. Their howls loud and mighty. 

No no no.

No. 

Beth.

There wasn’t any way to reach her from here.

Something inside him cracks, his instincts telling him it’s been too long anyway. There were too many of them.

_**I'll be gone someday.** _

“Beth!" he screams. “Beth!”  

It's tempting to run through the mass of walkers. But, no, he couldn’t get himself stuck. He had to find a way out for her. Because _yes,_ she’s still alive.

She’s alive.

She’s alive.

She’s alive.

Daryl rounds down the stairs. Past the second floor he looks at the ceiling – maybe there’s a vent he can crawl to the third floor? 

But there’s nothing that will fit him.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Daryl runs down to the first floor and out the door. He can climb the wall? There were ledges.

He’s going back no matter what. No matter how long it takes to clear the walkers. No matter if he dies trying.

**_You're going to miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon._ **

Running to the side of the building, his vision lands on sunshine in his eyes. The glare of her hair’s brightness acting as a lighthouse for stormy seas. When boats were lost and finally found a light to lead them back home. 

“Beth!”

She’s stuck on the second floor’s ledge because the first was too far too reach. All the while, walkers jump from the broken window. Splattering on the pavement like water balloons filled with rotten guts.

“Daryl," she calls, hugging the side of the building.

“Yer only two stories, I’ll catch you!”

Beth breathes in one more deep gasp - then jumps. Weightless in the air. Crashing into his arms, they roll onto the ground, with their heavy bags breaking some of the fall.

Elbows bloody and sore. But they're both alive. 

“Beth." 

Shaking, he grabs her hand and they stagger to the car. There’s been too much noise alerting others to their presence. They have to leave right now.

Daryl casts one quick look in her direction, panic still coursing through him, and his heart beating uncontrollably at her very alive presence. Like a shot of adrenaline in his veins.

* * *

 

They make it to the old house before dusk.

And it still has boarded windows and thick walls – just like he remembered. 

There’s nobody here in this part of the woods. It’s only them – just like they remembered. 

After morosely packing their stuff away, they sit in the living room, staring at one another in disbelief. It's _almost_ comical, Beth inwardly thinks, like they're watching an unbelievable television show and can't tear their vision from the screens of each other's face. 

“Today sucked,” she finally states.

He hasn’t spoken much, just grunts and nods. Not even the long drive up here. He just stared at her with wide eyes.

“Thought you were dead,” Daryl says, his voice grave and quiet. Not quite sure who he’s speaking to; himself or her.

“I’m not.”

He looks up at that.

But she smiles kindly. “I’m still here, Daryl Dixon.” 

His lips clench into a tight line, and he hates the moisture stinging at his eyes. 

Beth sees it and inches closer. “Daryl..” she soothes.

“Thought you were dead." His head drops.

She reaches over, sitting beside him on the floor, leaning her head against his solid shoulder. Beth’s heart races when his hand reaches up and rests over her arm.

Daryl sniffs and composes himself. He’s not going to cry all over her again, not like during the Moonshine cabin. He wants to be strong enough, but distantly the sound of Merle’s mocking laughter really does the job of sobering him.

_**Ain’t nobody’s bitch.** _

Yes, he is.

Daryl’s realistic enough to admit that he’s most definitely become her bitch. And time is never on their side. He can feel the minutes ticking away at their future. All the possible moments with her gone in a flash – Daryl sees them dead and buried just like he thought she was. 

Hears her wistful, drunken voice once again.  ** _You're going to miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon._**

Glancing at her earnest blue eyes, Daryl knows everything has changed for good. He’s not going to lie anymore.

He cups the side of her face, looking down meaningfully. And Beth slowly moves in like she’s gently wading in the water. Daryl briefly thinks about the siren mermaids who lured sailors to their end.

His head dips down to hers in a hurry. Why has he been wasting so much time? How could he when they live in a world like this? When she was everything and more?

Daryl leans down on top of her, hands bulking support on the surface of the floor. She moves her legs to make room for him. His mouth is heavy against her, his goatee scratching her face. The pressure of him hard against her.

His mind is spinning so fast he can barely keep up with it.

The feeling is too much, too perfect. He suddenly stops when his body is fully crushing her, Beth having disappeared beneath him, the only thing he can find is her mouth and her legs on either sides of his hips.

“Sorry,” he rasps. Was this too far? 

“No.” She shakes her head. “Don’t be.”

“We can't."

“We can,” her voice knowing. “Be right back.”

She returns with her duffel bag and unzips it to show her lucky discovery.

“The hell?” he gasps. “What’s wrong with you?” He cannot believe that’s what she packed – this weird, unpredictable girl.

“I _want_ to."

And then she kisses him again full force. Daryl’s lips move up and down with hers as she takes the breath away from him. Her body twisting into his like a tangled vine. Hands all over. 

Everything is rushing south. He chokes on difficult words, “Our first night here, shouldn’t get distracted.”

“Too late I already am.”

“Should keep a look out just in case,” his voice stains, as her mouth traces his neck. He struggles to keep his eyes open.

She bends in closer and closer, gripping his wide shoulders for dear life, up and down over his legs. It feels like the heat from a fire is all over him. Yet, their new fireplace remains unused. 

"Beth," he hisses, sounding concerned. 

“Keep your clothes on." She breaks away and waves in his direction. “That way you’ll be ready to run at any minute.”

It’s such a weird suggestion, such a Beth fix-it-all. Thinking she can problem solve her way out of any emotional situation. But this wasn’t just emotion, it was _physical_ too. She can’t ignore it.

“Think that’ll solve everythin’?” Daryl scoffs. “And anyway what about’chu?”

“Me?” Her voice drops lower. “Well, let’s see...” An idea pops into her head.

She kicks off her shoes and socks with ease. “I can slip those back on real quick.”

Beth stands in front of him, hands on her belt. She begins undoing her pants. There is a heavy beat of silence before she continues.

“My pants?” she questions, while shimmying the legs down. “I can grab 'em and run.”

Daryl’s scrunched-up eyes examine her. His fingers anxiously toying with the fabric of the carpet underneath him.

Her underwear is blue. With polka-a-dots. They’re not supposed to be alluring; obviously taken for comfort. But for some reason it makes Daryl even more uncomfortable. The sweetness of the whole image. He doesn’t even have underwear on. Their differences always seem so transparent, right down to the smallest integer.

But the shape of her fair legs against the fabric pull at a dormant spot inside of him. Waking up after seasons and seasons of hibernation (years _really_ ). For a second, his eyes land on her small toes. He briefly considers the humor in the fact that he knows her right down to her toes.

“My shirt?” she softly states. His eyes traveling upward.

There’s a slight tremor in her voice, indicating apprehension. Daryl knew she wasn’t as confident as she’s currently acting. 

Would this end like the first time she tried to drink alcohol – crying over peach schnapps? She started out so bravely, before lowering her head and weeping over the drink, as she held reality in her hands. He didn’t want to be peach schnapps.

But before he could further articulate this worry, Beth’s pulled the shirt over her head. And there she stood in front of him. A soft outline, pale blonde hair on her shoulders.

“Guess shirts don’t really matter,” she meekly jokes. Her arms unconsciously crossing over her bare chest. 

“You don’t have'ta," he alerts her, though it's hard to speak. 

Beth takes in his appearance.

Square shoulders hunkered down as he fidgets in that sitting position. His eyes shifting back and forth between her and the floor. Completely covered, unlike her. Yet, he looked just as vulnerable. They knew each other inside and out.

The dimming light darkening his features fills a sensation in her body.

“I want to, if you want to,” she says with sudden sureness. And then pushes her underwear down.

And her beauty is shattering any resolve he had. In the moonlight her skin glows. But still - is he _really_ worth this?

“Don’t wanna be peach schnapps,” he explains his apprehension.

She lowers back down to him.

**_Ain't gonna have your first drink be no damned peach schnapps._ **

“You’re not,” she automatically says, sitting on his lap. “You’re moonshine.”

How does she possess all the perfect words? No one’s ever made him feel as right as she does. Daryl wishes he could say the same things back to her, make her feel as good as she made him feel. But maybe he could show her - he could finally show Beth everything. 

He grasps her close to him, pushing down along soft curves. And being clothed is so wrong when her skin is silk underneath his hands. He sheds his jacket, so she gets the hint and unbuckles his belt. The rest comes quickly. 

On the musty floor Daryl leans into her, making her breath go up and down. Their bodies moving as limbs intertwine clumsy and needy. Their hands helping each other find the right places. 

"Here." Beth breathes out. Guiding him where thumbs and palms awkwardly hover. 

"Sorry," he rasps, pushing past the unavoidable embarrassment.

There's the sound of a hammer hitting a nail in his ear and he's sure it'll stop soon if he doesn't do anything about it. So he does. 

Knees and thighs gracelessly knock into each other, until eventually they find proper placements. His knees bruising from the face of the floor, straining back and forth. Hers own knees tucked close at his sides, slipping down his legs, head bobbing below the crook of his neck. Her fingernails gliding over scars on his back. 

It happens right there on the carpet. In a strange house, on a strange night. Daryl’s uneven grunts warm in her mouth, as one hand grips underneath her side and the other tightly grips her shoulder, gaining the most possible leverage.

She tries to help their rhythm, but there's no leeway between the solid floor at her back and Daryl's crushing chest at her front. 

The only space she has left to move is where their bodies meet below, so she raises upward to rotate hips and strong thighs against his own force. And then there's a low, choking gasp at her ear in response. Her own breath choking uncontrollably as she continues. 

" _Beth_." 

When it’s all over, they remain still next to one another. Halfway shocked. And still warm.

She traces the lines of his throat, never having been allowed this close for such an amount of time before, she begins memorizing the bumps and plains of his skin. Happily processing the new norm that they've finally reached. After all this time. 

“Let’s stay here forever,” she laughs. Her laughter returned - snickering at the fact that she hadn't wanted to come here in the first place.

“Nah, we’ll head North eventually."

She looks at him questioningly.

“They’re alive,” Daryl explains. “Rick will have gone North, like I said.”

“You really think they’re alive?” she asks, partly in awe.

“Guess I do.”

 **_Maybe we stick around here for awhile. If they come back, we'll just make it work._ ** **_May be nuts... but maybe we'll be aright._ **

Beth smiles, her heart aching in the best way.

**_So you do think there are still good people around?_ **

She loved that question.

That answer. 

“What changed your mind?” Beth echoes from all those nights ago, to that one last moment in a dimly lit funeral home.

When it all began. Or maybe it had already started. The journey of their lives headed out together before they even knew. So many _different_ scenarios that may have happened. And still it lead to this _same_ moment. He looks at her with the certainty of a life already lost and lived.

“Cause I love you.”

 

 

 _ **Oh**_.


End file.
